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beinmybonnet · 4 years

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hmmm ok, joe/nicky "colour"

(classic seeing colour soulmates au BECAUSE ALL THE TROPES FEEL NEW WHEN YOU’VE GOT IMMORTALS)

- you see the world in black and white until the day you touch your soulmate. when they die, you lose the colour they brought to your life -

“Oh, that’s beautiful.”

Nile comes up on Joe’s right shoulder, mug of tea cupped between her palms.

“Thank you.” He shuffles over so she can sit beside him on the bench, moving aside his paints. She’s studying his work intently.

“The shades here are perfect,” she tells him, eyes darting between the painting and the view before them, “it’s like the shadows are lifting off the canvas. What colours have you used?”

Joe’s smile is wide, and he flips his paintbrush to gesture with the end. “Here, whites and greys for the houses at the bottom of the hill. Here,” he points the handle higher, “yellows with pink, and then some red here, just as the sun rose.”

“So, that would be orange right here? Pale though?” she points at the right splash of colour and Joe turns, brow lifting in surprise. “Art History with a focus on colour differentials,” she says proudly. “My professor said I had the best monochromatic eye he’d ever seen.”

Joe promptly slides the paints across the bench and picks his spare canvas up off the grass. “Join me?”

“Really?” Nile grins, bright and eager as he hands her a brush. She hovers over the paints for a moment, chewing her lip between her teeth. Her eyes rove determinedly over the unlabelled paints and the sky, before she plucks up a purple pot. Joe has to resist the urge to wrap his arm round her shoulders.

Back when Joe had first leaned to draw, colour had meant nothing to him. He’d had chalks and charcoals as a child and had lost hours to sweeping strokes across paving stones. He’d learned to differentiate between subtle shadows and muted tones, blending new greys between his fingertips to smudge over his clothing.

Black, white and the thousand shades between them were comfortable and sure. Colour was just, unnecessary. As he grew, he was gifted graphite and dark inks and a roll of rough parchment was always tucked against his hip. He could recreate everything his eye could see and his mind could form with the two fundamentals in his hands. All his most treasured early memories remain this way; his mother’s shining ebony hair, the smoky shade of her skin. The bright white of his father’s teeth as he spun her around in front of their home.

But there’s still no denying that colour changed everything. Colour that had come into his world with all the subtlety of the man at its source. Suddenly his life had burst into bold tints and fierce hues; endless possibilities for him to explore with paints and oils and pastels. Nine hundred years to experiment with the vibrancy of the world around him.

He and Nile reach for the blue together and smile.

Nicky’s got his eye pressed tight to his scope when everything fades.

He’s dialling left, settling his weight into his hips and then a curtain of heavy grey drops across his view. He rears back rubbing at his eyes, trying to force the colours back.

“Shit… just- Book, hold up!” Andy’s voice crackles out of the earpiece Nicky’s placed on the rooftop beside him. He scrambles to jam it back in.

“Andy-”

“Take the shot Nicky.” There’s shouting coming from below and Andy is swearing vehemently. “I’ve got him, just take the shot!”

He lurches back into position trying to clear his mind. It’s all wrong though, the shadows too dark and his depth perception is ruined -he’ll have to start all over. The dilution of his vision is making his heart thump erratically, and he has to count breaths in his head to keep himself still enough to reline up the shot.

Seconds later, the target steps out of the blackness and Nicky fires. The bullet cracks off the window frame, striking home at a cruel angle. He swears under his breath; it wasn’t clean, but he doesn’t care – the job’s done. He just needs to find Joe.

He takes the stairs at a speed that leaves his knees numb. At the extraction point, the van is already moving away as the door slides open. Nicky hurls his gear in and leaps after it. He gets the briefest glimpse of eyes too dark, and thick pewter stains across a torso before the door is slammed shut and he’s hauling Joe into his arms. They collide with a thump and Nicky quickly tucks his face against the grey skin of Joe’s neck with his eyes clenched shut. A hand burrows under the edge of his tactical gear until he feels the warmth at the small of his back.

Nicky pulls back to open his eyes and relief has him sagging further into the arms around him. Warm tawny skin shines against the dark khaki of Joe’s vest. He drags his mouth up the rich line of his throat, reluctant to break contact.

“Sorry.” Joe’s expression is chagrined when he lifts his head. “Got pinned down.”

There’s a smear of blood at the corner of Joe’s mouth, the newly crimson stain brash and mocking. Nicky rubs at it with a gloved thumb until the skin is clean and then presses his mouth gratefully to his favourite colour.

“A lilac ribbon in her hair. First colour I ever saw.”

The slight waver in his voice makes Nile wonder if she’s over-stepped again, if she’s put her foot in some unknown no-go zone and she opens her mouth to apologise. But Booker’s smiling, and that in itself is rare enough that Nile waits.

“It happened in a crowd. Must have been a hundred people in the square, easily…” his smile is widening. “God, it would have been so easy to have missed her. Soldiers were separating people, everyone was running and pushing and we just… brushed hands.”

Booker lifts his hand from his lap and turns it over slowly. “The back of her hand touched mine as she ran past. That was all.” He touches that spot, a glance of his finger. “I looked back, and her ribbon was lilac. But it was so busy, I lost sight of her in the rush.”

“But you found her again?” Nile has her head propped on her hands, trying not to sound too eager. Booker laughs gruffly.

“She found me. Came back for me.” He’s gripping his own hand tightly now, nails biting at the skin. “Lilac ribbon, hair like honey. Everything else came after that.”

“She sounds lovely.”

Booker looks up at her properly, and Nile’s acutely aware that whilst now they see the world in the same shades, it wasn’t always that way.

His voice is soft. “She was.”

Joe barely has time to shout before his world is plunged back into negatives, colour leaching from his vision. He’s scrambling, sliding in the pool of viscous grey he knows is blood as it spreads around Nicky’s skull.

He moves to cup Nicky’s face and can’t bear it. The sharp edge of his cheekbone throws dark shadows over his too pale face. Flecks and streaks of black over his skin; blood or dust or ash, Joe can’t tell anymore and the panic is rising in his throat. He can’t look at Nicky’s colourless eyes – he can’t- he’ll carry the sight with him too long.

He tears his head away, his own eyes clenched shut – but before he has time to pray, to plead, Nicky is gasping beneath him. The breath Joe releases is sticky and harsh, and he’s curling forward in his relief. Their hands collide quickly against each other’s forearms in an instinctive, accustomed clasp, and colours start seeping back immediately. The first to return are the shades of blue; bright aegean tones bursting in Nicky’s wide eyes, chased into existence by familiar notes of green. The weight lifts off Joe’s chest and for a moment he just breathes, air that tastes sweet and smooth as his other senses adjust to the disruption.

Then Nicky’s rolling. “Let’s go, Andy.”

They’re stood close enough to see the tremble in Andy’s arm as she reaches for Quynh’s face for the first time in over four hundred years.

Joe is frozen at his side, and Nicky’s breath is jammed somewhere in the base of his throat. He can’t believe this is actually happening.

Andy’s hand falters just shy of Quynh’s cheek with a ragged sound, fingers hovering. She opens her mouth to speak but Quynh reaches up and clamps the hand desperately to her face with her own. They shudder so violently Nicky wonders for a moment if the ground has physically quaked.

He knows the sensation well; that fierce swoop in the stomach. Like he’s stepped into free fall as the world saturates around him at Joe’s first touch. When they can reach each other quickly after a death, colour comes back in slow, precious increments; the shining browns of Joe’s eyes, or the dusky pink that rises in the shell of his ear. The longest they’ve gone after a death was four days. Four days in an east Indian jungle trapped in wet, translucent tones of black and white, the frustration building until he’d screamed at the sky. When he’d finally gotten his hands on Joe, grasping desperately at his bared shoulders, colour returning was an immediate detonation that had left his whole body throbbing for hours.

Nicky can’t even begin to imagine what Andy and Quynh feel in this moment.

They go down as one, limbs folding together as they collapse into the dirt. Clutching at each other as their worlds transform. Quynh has Andy’s face trapped between her own palms now and is sobbing, laughing, trying to pull her closer. Andy’s tears are silent, but steady. Her eyes flitting over Quynh’s face in awe while she runs trembling fingertips over rosy cheeks she can see.

Joe is squeezing his hand so tightly his fingers have gone numb, but the rush of joy in Nicky’s chest is golden and fierce. To stop himself moving forwards to pull Quynh into his own arms, he steps behind Joe and tugs him back, arms looping firmly around his middle.

“See? We are meant to find each other,” he whispers. Joe chuckles wetly against him.

On the ground, Quynh is smiling through her tears. “You’re beautiful Andromache,”

Andy hums hoarsely and runs her hands over Quynh’s arms, coming up to cradle her collar through the thick fabric of her coat. Her fingers rub at the material and Nicky knows the scarlet shade must be iridescent to her eyes. Andy lifts a thumb to Quynh’s lower lip.

“Red always was your colour.”

adriana i’m so sorry this took so long. i physically couldn’t stop it getting longer and longer and then i got really stuck and it was a whole mess.

#the old guard #the old guard fic #joe x nicky #andy x quynh #soulmates au #userkayla #usermarwan #usercacau #tuserceleste #userbones #userlyde #usershan #tusermj #idk what happened here #can't write 5 sentences like a normal person #mine #prompt

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 2 years

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Twisted Tales: Part of Your World Review

Liz Braswell’s take on the Little Mermaid asks “What if Ariel had never defeated Ursula?” And that is a dark future indeed. Ariel is the mute ruler of Atlantica with her father’s demise, Eric is in a permanent hypnotic daze content in his role as the Mad Prince making operettas as his wife, Princess Vanessa rules the kingdom in his stead, waging war on neighboring kingdoms and villages for no reason other than boredom and power.

However, six years later, lovable Scuttle gives everyone hope when he spots Vanessa talking to a disheartened polyp. It’s King Triton! King Triton is alive and once Ariel hears this news, she knows she must return to the world she had so loved to rescue him.

Sounds like a simple plot, but that it’s not so. It’s one thing to have a goal, but when Ariel surfaces to accomplish it, things are much more complicated than she thought. Since becoming queen, Ariel understands some of her father’s grumpy, stoic demeanor and has become much more calm, more decisive, queenly because of it. She worked twice as hard to be heard and respected as an authority, made doubly hard that she had to have Sebastian and Flounder as her translators. But returning to the surface and the potential of returning things to normal, some of her natural impulsivity and recklessness pops up again. What’s more, she realizes her actions have not only ruined her life but that she inadvertently brought Eric’s kingdom, Tirulia to ruin. If she hadn’t made the deal with Ursula to go on land to see Eric, Ursula wouldn’t have gone to her tricks to foil Ariel, and so on. Now Tirulia has a mad princess plunging the people to war, poverty and more. Now, Ariel is determined not only to rescue her father but that she must fix things on the Dry World too. She must get Vanessa off the throne.

Again, it is not as easy as just sneaking into the palace and finding her father in Vanessa’s room, especially as the seagulls weren’t able to tell her which bottle the King Triton polyp was in. However, she is able to grab the magical nautilus that Ursula stole her voice. This is where the story picks up, not only in the joyful reclamation of her voice, but it breaks the memory haze that Ursula had cast upon everyone else. Eric is free from the spell, confused but free and when Ariel appears seeking his help, he is more than willing to take his kingdom back. But that rash act to take back her voice ruins Ariel’s opportunity for surprise. Ursula knows she’s back and thus a grand game of sea chess begins.

As I have written in my other reviews, Braswell does an excellent job in building this world. The Dry Land kingdom of Tirulia seems to be inspired by Italy with its closeness to the coast, Roman architecture, vineyards and seafood cuisine. Though I suppose it could be Denmark as that would make more sense as a nod to the origins of The Little Mermaid as a Danish fairytale. But with how it was described in the story, I immediately thought Italy.

Point is, it felt like a very real breathing kingdom with allies, enemies, a specific culture etc. This was a fascinating point to Ariel as she returns to land and is able to more fully explore it without the three day time limit. She muses on how the humans have so much diversity in culture and their urge to explore whether in diplomacy or war. This is especially intriguing compared to Atlantica where it has been left in complacency. The merfolk are peaceful, content with festivals and concerts, and not so much exploring other oceans like Ariel wishes to do.

And that world building continues to Atlantica. Not only describing the state of complacency but their origins are heavily tied to Greek mythology as Triton (and all merfolk) are descendants of Neserus, the sea Titan. Ariel corrects Eric that they are not part human, part fish but part god, part fish as they are immortals. At least until they turn into foam, but they are far more immortal than humans. She also uses the ancient names of Prosperine, Cedes and others as major figures in their mermaid festivals. Braswell also describes the ancient evil powers of Elder Gods that Ursula tries to summon, describing them and their powers as almost eldritch abominations of the deep. So very vast world-building here creating landmarks, runes and a set of rules for how her trident’s powers operate.

As for the characters, I admire how Braswell manages to retain the Wonder Ariel has for the human worlds, her flaws of thoughtlessness and impulsivity and the effect of age and experience all at once in Ariel. She is a changed woman from her forced turn on the throne. She is more aware of her actions and consequences making her seem more adult, but still has the energetic heart and courage of her youth. I’m probably not giving her the depth she deserves here, but honestly you have to read for yourself the layers that Braswell created in this new Ariel, there’s a lot to analyze and unpack with it especially in one memorable scene of unpardonable poaching/fishing of sea life where she unleashes her fury much like the old gods of the sea.

Eric was a fun character and well-done love interest and ally. He is often described with a boyishness and sweet youthful personality that absolutely shines her, he perfectly fits what we see in the movie as a guy playing a flute on the ship, he just loves adventure on the sea just as Ariel loves exploring shipwrecks and the Dry World. But he too has grown up. Not quite the same reserve as Ariel but a more haunting one after he realizes he spent six years under Ursula’s spell. It speaks a lot to his character that he was most upset of how he had been complacent, writing music and operas while letting Vanessa control all other kingdom matter. Again, it is a youthful urge to do what is right and protect everyone, acting on emotion though he doesn’t quite have the knowledge and/or experience to back it up. But he is not dumb as Ursula thinks he is either. He is actually quite adept at playing the role of a complacent, Mad Prince when it is needed and so it is all the more shocking when he turns the tables on Ursula in a stunning one on one battle of wits. Seriously I cheered at the scene, he was like a chess master.

Additionally the choice to have him be a composer, one given to dramatics and epics like Sebastian adds another part to him. It shows his creative side and gives him another relation to Ariel as a singer. She sings not for the sake of performance but that she feels so much, she has to get it out in song. He does the same, writing down the notes that express things he can’t put into words. Truly, Braswell did a great job connecting them together and why they would have such a deep connection.

The supporting characters of Carlotta the no nonsense maid, Grimsby the stalwart fatherly butler (he was my favorite), scatterbrained Scuttle, his great grandgull Jona, Flounder and Sebastian were fine additions and did well in providing support and help in moving the plot and helping the heroes. They were all very sweet in their own right.

As for Ursula, she had her own twists too. At first, she seems to be her same grand self given to boasts and grandstanding of her own superiority especially over humans. But it is soon clear that she is as manipulative as ever. She manages to keep one step ahead of everyone almost the whole book but even so, her anger at Ariel’s reappearance brings some snarls to her grand plan. The problem Ursula has is that she wants power and revenge but her need to make it big and make everyone know it is her, proves to be one of her downfalls. That and how her pride deludes her into thinking that all she should bow to her without question, and that she can handle human politics with the same methods as from under the sea. Her power-hungry descent to madness creates a unique sort of terrifying villain that readers will shiver from.

I have a few nitpicks here that kept this from being a solid 5 like the repeated phrase Queen of the Sea. I get it, Ariel’s the queen of the sea but Braswell used it so much in the place of Ariel or She, it became annoying.

I also understand that Braswell wanted to create an immersive world but she had one-two page chapters from the point of view of random villagers, from Flotsam and Jetsam, Grimsby and Carlotta that really didn’t provide anything. They were one time chapters and were unnecessary as they didn’t really foreshadow anything that was revealed or talked in Ariel/Eric/Ursula’s chapters.

There was also one chapter where Ursula attempted trick another human for her voice to disguise her true one now that Ariel had hers back. It failed but it felt like it was a cut off thread leading to something bigger. But the whole act was never mentioned again like it hadn’t happened so what was the point?

Furthermore, it took 30 pages before Ariel was introduced. I suppose Braswell wanted to illustrate the dire state of Tirulia first, but since this is Ariel’s story I felt like she should be have given the Prologue at least so it would set who this story was about.

Finally, there was an interesting thread of Ariel’s interactions with her sisters. They are mostly flighty and concerned only with having fun. They place Ariel as queen as a punishment for her role in Triton’s death but Ariel soon sees they it was less punishing her but more avoiding royal duties themselves. She also sees it as an attempt to distract themselves from their grief by focusing on silly things that provide little thought. Attina, the eldest is the only one who gets a little more depth which I loved as she was always my favorite.

But it felt a bit half done. There was one line that stood out to me, “The oldest sister who had tried to take over as mother when their real mother died, and never succeeded in the role,” (Braswell 64). Like there’s so much in that line! But Attina spent most of her time insulting Ariel’s choices and fascination with the Dry World. Which I did sense there might be some jealousy from Attina’s part, that Ariel who was the prettiest, most talented favorite daughter wanted to throw everything for the Dry World as if mers meant nothing. But ultimately, there were only hints and not much else. She only gave rude comments, and didn’t help with saving Triton, even though as later said, as eldest she had more training royal matters. It just felt off.

Overall, this was a solid Twisted Tale albeit with a few cut off threads. I give it 4 nautiluses.

#liz braswell #twisted tales #part of your world #little mermaid

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writing-in-april · 3 years

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Origins

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Reader feels homesick after a particularly gruesome case. Spencer can’t buy a plane ticket, but he can try to help recreate part of home with them.

A/N: hey heyyyy- this is my eighth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April- I’m very nervous for this one to be honest- idk if it’s going to be a lot of peoples cup of tea- this one had me researching a lot lol since I have no clue about boats at all lol- I hope I did the request at least a bit of justice (sorry in advance if I fuck up any terms or anything) but I think I did pretty well with my research (I think). I originally got the request from @imagining-in-the-margins when she handed it over to me also thanks for some help on the folklore parts too! Here it is-

I always want to hear from you guys so feel free to drop me an ask here- and hopefully y’all enjoy!!

Warnings: ~disclaimer lol I know nothing about boating~ Anyway into the other warnings- Takes place directly after season 3 episode 8 (Lucky with Floyd Feylinn) Spencer gets really fucking sea sick- poor baby, Reader is from overseas (originally Cornwall in the request but I made it a bit more vague) and Reader’s father is a fisherman

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.8k

The air that floated around whenever I was out on the water, salty sea water or fresh salt water always seemed to breath life back into my lungs. The river that we were boating on was quite salty near its widest point, tides brought the saltwater in to mix with the fresh making the water quite brackish.

I was lucky to still live somewhat near water after I had moved over to America. I hadn’t had the luxury of picking exactly where I was going to live and work when I transferred to the FBI, I just happened to draw all the right cards. With my schedule I didn’t go out on the water as much as I used to, definitely not as often as I had as a child. I yearned often to feel the specific type of air people only felt when on the water, especially when my job got particularly gruesome.

Gruesome was a way to define the last case my team and I had been brought in to investigate. My stomach churned at the thought of our last unsub, his name couldn’t leave my mind and the images of his heinous acts certainly didn’t leave either. Floyd Feylinn Ferell had been his name, though I wished I could forever scrub it from my memory. His crimes were too vile that everything seemed to trigger a memory, specifically of the frozen corpses.

The team had even noticed how affected I was by the case, often sending me worrying looks whenever it looked like blood drained from my face over sheer shock- just like the corpses. Cases had been gruesome before, sure, but there was something about this one made me feel frozen by fear.

I needed air, and not just any old air.

Homesickness was another factor that was making me feel so ill. I hadn’t been back to my home in so long, the only time I spoke with my father was over the phone, no video chats at all. He was just as technophobic as Spencer, maybe even more so to be honest. My father’s life as a fisherman hadn’t made him exceptionally tech savvy. He did know how to work a phone now thanks to you, which was another similarity to him and Spencer. I had helped Spencer learn how to work his new smartphone just last week.

Spencer, my lovely boyfriend of a few months, wanted to help quell my dark thoughts as best as he could with all of his knowledge. His first solution was to always revert to books, which I didn’t mind, it only made him more special to me. He tried to find books that would remind me of home- and get my mind off of gruesome cases that were closed and shut cases.

Hotch had then suggested the team take a day off, just one. After weeks of back to back cases with little to no reprieve we’d finally get some time alone, even if it was only for a day. All I needed was one day to get on the water and cleanse myself of the negative thoughts I had been feeling lately.

It was actually Spencer that had first suggested this excursion. He had come to one of our dates with his arms full of pamphlets all about renting a boat for the day. He also had definitely read up about boats, I’d expect nothing less of Spencer. I had learned it was his way of subtly showing affection, researching anything that I even was passively interested in.

Spencer packed even more than I did when we set off on the day long date, packing to the brim at least one too many bags- to be honest he packed two too many bags.

Once we had gotten the boat out into the water, the relief was almost instant. It was like my body knew I was home. I wasn’t actually at home of course, but it somehow knew I was near the water again. Honestly, Spencer hadn’t been far off when he called me a mermaid on one of our first dates, I had gone on a ramble about my love for it.

The water wasn’t nearly as clear as where I had grown up, much more dull in my opinion. But, the breeze that danced across my skin as well as the water made me feel more at home then I had been in a long time. After letting the mist spray onto my cheeks for a while I looked over to check on Spencer, who was not doing well by the looks of it.

Spencer’s face was twisted up in a grimace, not used to being in a boat. Until I had asked him a few weeks ago, to make sure it would be safe to go out on the water with him, I hadn’t even been sure he could swim. I also wasn’t that surprised that he had this reaction, it would have been less of a problem if it was a boat that I had picked out and bought. But, I’d take what I’d get if only to be by the water.

He pretended to hide his urge to dry heave over the side of the small boat that I had rented for the weekend. He looked almost green at this point, I knew he was only staying for my benefit at this point making me a tad bit sad. Water definitely seemed to have the opposite effect on Spencer compared to me, being on the water always felt like instant relaxation to me.

I still, however, didn’t want him to feel any major discomfort like he was obviously feeling so I decided to pipe up since he wouldn’t tell me himself, “Are you sure you’re ok enough to stay, Spencer?”

He pulled his life vest around himself as tight as he could while crossing his arms around his stomach. It took him a second to answer and in that time I almost started to turn the boat around back to the bay.

“I’m fine!” He squeaked out and I could see a shiver run through him. If I had offered to turn the boat around he’d most definitely have given me a glare, not wanting me to turn it around for his own sake. I squinted my eyes in suspicion, he was not completely fine obviously, but if he was insistent on staying maybe I could find something to distract him from it.

“Do you want to hear a sea shanty or do you want me to tell a regular story?” I asked out into the wind, thinking that might distract him from his nausea.

“A story, but you can’t call them regular stories.” He teased back as well as he could with the urge to dry heave, as if he didn’t know what I had meant. I scooted a little closer to him before I prepared myself to tell my story.

Selkies were always the ones I started out with whenever I told the stories I had grown up with. Despite its dark undertones I had latched onto the story as a child, finding it similar to the mainstream perception of what mermaids were. Though I’m reality seals that could transform into humans were a far cry from mainstream ideas of mermaids, a Merrow would have been a better comparison.

I always gave Spencer the origins of the story, he liked to know exactly where they had come from and how I had heard about the story in the first place, “As you know by now the folklore about Selkie’s originates from Scotland. Well- let me think about what I haven’t told you about Selkies before…” I pondered for a moment before remembering an aspect of the Selkies powers I hadn’t educated Spencer on yet. There was no doubt in my mind that he probably had all this information stored away in his brain somewhere, it was nice to know that someone genuinely cared about the stories I liked to tell. “Selkies are immortal, but they can be killed by other creatures. And I know I’ve told you that part, but I haven’t told you that they are generally killed by sharks when they are in seal form.”

I then went into the whole lore surrounding Selkie’s immortality. My hands were waving around animatedly as I talked, just like how the small waves were rocking our boat. They had definitely calmed down by now, hopefully Spencer would feel better soon.

Once I finished my tale I beamed over at him, my mood had brightened significantly over this trip, even though I could sense that Spencer’s had not. Though the story might have helped, he seemed a little less sickly now. He then managed to ask again without puking, “Could you tell another story? Maybe about the Kelpies? Or the Pixies of Cornwall? You can pick anything though really, I love listening to your stories.”

My heart swelled enough from his words that I thought it might burst. I wouldn’t have expected anything less of Spencer, he always hunted for more knowledge about things he was maybe more ignorant about compared to other topics.

I opted to then tell him about the Kelpies, who were also water dwelling creatures, before moving onto the pixies. He even seemed to be getting attached to the same stories that you favored as a child, and even as an adult.

I looked over at him as I finished my last little bit of information that I felt I could muster up today. A smile filled with fondness crept onto my face, his fluffy hair strewn about. It was cute despite his lingering sea sickness.

His face was remarkably less green now, my stories must have soothed him which made me feel heat run to my cheeks. Each time Spencer took interest in my origins I felt deeper feelings bubbling up, that were more than what we had expressed yet. Instead of voicing my full feelings just yet, I leaned forward to give him a chaste kiss on the forehead. He may have not looked green anymore, but I’d wait to give him a kiss on the lips until after we got back to shore, just in case something was to happen.

“Can you sing now?” I knew that he was not requesting me to sing any silly old song. He wanted me to sing the sea shantys that my father had taught me as a child. Not that I minded his request, I’d do anything to make him happier and I loved singing them anyway.

I smiled brightly as I guided the boat back to shore while I sang, already feeling lighter. It had not just been the water this time that made me feel better, it was also because of Spencer. He had taken so much care to help me feel more connected with home, loving to learn about your origins.

Ask Me Anything

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Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith I’m sorry 😭

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler fluff #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg x reader #criminal minds #30 fics in 30 days

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mytwilightimagines13 · 3 years

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Amnesia (Book Two)(Part Fifteen)(Alec Volturi)

The final witness

Then Alice danced into the clearing from the southwest, Jasper was only inches behind her, his sharp eyes fierce. Close after them ran three strangers; the first was a tall, muscular female with wild dark hair - obviously Kachiri. She had the same elongated limbs and features as the other Amazons, even more pronounced in her case. The next was a small olive-toned female vampire with a long braid of black hair bobbing against her back. Her deep burgundy eyes flitted nervously around the confrontation before her. And the last was a young man... not quite as fast nor quite as fluid in his run. His skin was an impossible rich, dark brown. His wary eyes flashed across the gathering, and they were the color of warm teak. His hair was black and braided, too, like the woman's, though not as long. He was beautiful. As he neared the vampires in the meadow, a new sound sent shock waves through the watching crowd - the sound of another heartbeat, accelerated with exertion. Alice leaped lightly over the edges of the dissipating mist that lapped at Bella’s shield and came to a sinuous stop at Edward's side. Bella reached out to touch her arm, and so did Edward, Esme, Carlisle. There wasn't time for any other welcome. Jasper and the others followed her through the shield. All the guard watched, speculation in their eyes, as the latecomers crossed the invisible border without difficulty. The brawny ones, Felix and the others like him, focused their suddenly hopeful eyes on Bella. They had not been sure of what her shield repelled, but it was clear now that it would not stop a physical attack. As soon as Aro gave the order, the blitz would ensue her. Edward, despite his absorption in the coup he was directing, stiffened furiously in response to their thoughts. He controlled himself and spoke to Aro again. "Alice has been searching for her own witnesses these last weeks," he said to the ancient. "And she does not come back empty-handed. Alice, why don't you introduce the witnesses you've brought?" Caius snarled. "The time for witnesses is past! Cast your vote, Aro!" Aro raised one finger to silence his brother, his eyes glued to Alice's face. Alice stepped forward lightly and introduced the strangers. "This is Huilen and her nephew, Nahuel." Caius's eyes tightened as Alice named the relationship between the newcomers. The Volturi witnesses hissed amongst themselves, including Jane and Alec, but Maeryn did not join them once again. She felt intrigued by the newcomers. So there were more male vampires impregnating female humans. The vampire world was changing, and everyone could feel it. "Speak, Huilen," Aro commanded. "Give us the witness you were brought to bear." The slight woman looked to Alice nervously. Alice nodded in encouragement, and Kachiri put her long hand on the little vampire's shoulder. "I am Huilen," the woman announced in clear but strangely accented English. As she continued, it was apparent she had prepared herself to tell this story, that she had practiced. It flowed like a well-known nursery rhyme. "A century and a half ago, I lived with my people, the Mapuche. My sister was Pire. Our parents named her after the snow on the mountains because of her fair skin. And she was very beautiful - too beautiful. She came to me one day in secret and told me of the angel that found her in the woods, that visited her by night. I warned her." Huilen shook her head mournfully. "As if the bruises on her skin were not warning enough. I knew it was the Libishomen of our legends, but she would not listen. She was bewitched. "She told me when she was sure her dark angel's child was growing inside her. I didn't try to discourage her from her plan to run away - I knew even our father and mother would agree that the child must be destroyed, Pire with it. I went with her into the deepest parts of the forest. She searched for her demon angel but found nothing. I cared for her, hunted for her when her strength failed. She ate the animals raw, drinking their blood. I needed no more confirmation of what she carried in her womb. I hoped to

save her life before I killed the monster. But she loved the child inside her. She called him Nahuel, after the jungle cat, when he grew strong and broke her bones - and loved him still. I could not save her. The child ripped his way free of her, and she died quickly, begging all the while that I would care for her Nahuel. Her dying wish - and I agreed. He bit me, though, when I tried to lift him from her body. I crawled away into the jungle to die. I didn't get far - the pain was too much. But he found me; the newborn child struggled through the underbrush to my side and waited for me. When the pain ended, he was curled against my side, sleeping. I cared for him until he was able to hunt for himself. We hunted the villages around our forest, staying to ourselves. We have never come so far from our home, but Nahuel wished to see the child here." Huilen bowed her head when she was finished and moved back so she was partially hidden behind Kachiri. Aro's lips were pursed. He stared at the dark-skinned youth. "Nahuel, you are one hundred and fifty years old?" he questioned. "Give or take a decade," he answered in a clear, beautifully warm voice. His accent was barely noticeable. "We don't keep track." "And you reached maturity at what age?" "About seven years after my birth, more or less, I was full grown." "You have not changed since then?" Nahuel shrugged. "Not that I've noticed." "And your diet?" Aro pressed, seeming interested in spite of himself. "Mostly blood, but some human food, too. I can survive on either." "You were able to create an immortal?" As Aro gestured to Huilen, his voice was abruptly intense. Bella refocused on her shield, but Maeryn no longer paid attention. This was something new to her kind, something interesting. And she wanted to know every last bit of it. "Yes, but none of the rest can." A shocked murmur ran through all three groups. Aro's eyebrows shot up. "The rest?" "My sisters." Nahuel shrugged again. Aro stared wildly for a moment before composing his face. "Perhaps you would tell us the rest of your story, for there seems to be more." Nahuel frowned. "My father came looking for me a few years after my mother's death." His handsome face distorted slightly. "He was pleased to find me." Nahuel's tone suggested the feeling was not mutual. "He had two daughters, but no sons. He expected me to join him, as my sisters had. He was surprised I was not alone. My sisters are not venomous, but whether that's due to gender or a random chance... who knows? I already had my family with Huilen, and I was not interested" - he twisted the word - "in making a change. I see him from time to time. I have a new sister; she reached maturity about ten years back." "Your father's name?" Caius asked through gritted teeth. "Joham," Nahuel answered. "He considers himself a scientist. He thinks he's creating a new super-race." He made no attempt to disguise the disgust in his tone. Maeryn shared this feeling. It indeed was disgusting. Caius looked at Bella. "Your daughter, is she venomous?" he demanded harshly. "No," Bella responded. Nahuel's head snapped up at Aro's question, and his teak eyes turned to bore into Bella’s face. Caius looked to Aro for confirmation, but Aro was absorbed in his own thoughts. He pursed his lips and stared at Carlisle, and then Edward, and at last his eyes rested on Bella. Caius growled. "We take care of the aberration here, and then follow it south," he urged Aro. Aro stared into Bella’s eyes for a long, tense moment. Maeryn had no idea what he was searching for in Bella’s eyes, or what he found, but after he had measured her for that moment, something in his face changed, a faint shift in the set of his mouth and eyes, and Maeryn knew that Aro had made his decision. "Brother," he said softly to Caius. "There appears to be no danger. This is an unusual development, but I see no threat. These half-vampire children are much like us, it appears." "Is that your vote?" Caius demanded. "It is." Caius scowled. "And this Joham? This immortal so fond of experimentation?" "Perhaps we

should speak with him," Aro agreed. "Stop Joham if you will," Nahuel said flatly. "But leave my sisters be. They are innocent." Aro nodded, his expression solemn. And then he turned back to his guard with a warm smile. "Dear ones," he called. "We do not fight today." The guard nodded in unison and straightened out of their ready positions. The mist dissipated swiftly, but Bella held her shield in place. She analyzed their expressions as Aro turned back to them. His face was as benign as ever, but unlike before, there could be a strange blankness sensed behind the facade. As if his scheming was over. Caius was clearly incensed, but his rage was turned inward now; he was resigned. Marcus looked... bored; there really was no other word for it. The guard was impassive and disciplined again; there were no individuals among them, just the whole. They were in formation, ready to depart. Once Alec’s mist had returned to himself, Maeryn took off the glove of her right hand, showing her porcelain skin to the sun. Alec did the same to the glove on his left hand and grabbed Maeryn’s hand tightly. It felt good to feel each other’s skin touch one another. Now they could feel their connection much better than before. The Volturi witnesses were still wary; one after another, they departed, scattering into the woods. As their numbers dwindled, the remaining sped up. Soon they were all gone. Aro held his hands out to the foes, almost apologetic. Behind him, the larger part of the guard, along with Caius, Marcus, and the silent, mysterious wives, were already drifting quickly away, their formation precise once again. Only the three that seemed to be his personal guardians lingered with him. "I'm so glad this could be resolved without violence," he said sweetly. "My friend, Carlisle - how pleased I am to call you friend again! I hope there are no hard feelings. I know you understand the strict burden that our duty places on our shoulders." "Leave in peace, Aro," Carlisle said stiffly. "Please remember that we still have our anonymity to protect here, and keep your guard from hunting in this region." "Of course, Carlisle," Aro assured him. "I am sorry to earn your disapproval, my dear friend. Perhaps, in time, you will forgive me." "Perhaps, in time, if you prove a friend to us again." Aro bowed his head, the picture of remorse, and drifted backward for a moment before he turned around. The foes watched in silence as the last four Volturi disappeared into the trees.

Once back in the castle, Jane, Alec and Maeryn made their way towards Jane’s room. Jane was boiling with anger and she threw some expensive vases against the wall on their way to her room. Maeryn and Alec skillfully avoided the porcelain shatters and followed their sister to her room. Once inside, Jane grabbed her pillow and ripped it in half. Alec let go of Maeryn’s hand and pulled his sister in a tight embrace. Jane used her gift on him, but Alec kept on holding her, not once making a sound of agony. Soon enough Jane calmed down, and as soon as Alec released her, she fell onto her bed that was now covered in feathers. She picked one up and studied its form with her magnified sight, seeing every little detail. “Don’t fret sister, there will be a day we can defeat them.” Alec said. “At a moment when they least expect it.” Jane said, slowly grinning again. "We got all eternity to plan it ." Maeryn said to Alec and Jane. Both the twins grinned. Maeryn grinned along, though she could not shake off the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

#alec volturi #volturi #volturi imagine #athenodora volturi #twilight imagine #twilight

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olympusnerd · 4 years

Text

Titanomachy: The Beginning

9000 words about the awkward first meeting of Zeus and his siblings. This takes place when Zeus releases the Olympians from their father Cronus and realize that a war is coming.

Now was the time.

Zeus was finally strong enough to face his father, Cronus, in a battle that would shake heaven and earth for a century. After years of cultivating his strength and learning the ways of the world, Metis and Amalthea felt that they had done all they could to prepare the young man to slay his father.

But he would need help.

He would need his brothers and sisters.

Zeus’s mother, Rhea, had told him countless times of his siblings being engulfed whole by Cronus, the proclaimed ruler of heaven, ocean and the earth. While it was true that they were immortal and had surely survived the endeavor, there was no way to know exactly what state they would be in once released from their dark prison.

“Hestia, she is your oldest sister,” Rhea said to him during one of their brief talks. “She is to be respected, as she has a power no others before her could ever wield. The power of flames.”

“What of the other’s?” he asked curiously. “What are the other’s like?”

Rhea’s eyes fell to the ground, as she struggled with the words, “I do not know. I was not granted the luxury of getting to know them as I did your sister. As soon as she showed her talents over flames, your father consumed her for fear of being defeated by his own progeny as he had defeated his father, Uranus. The rest he took out of my arms before they could so much as utter their first sounds of life.”

Zeus reflected on the conversation now, as he watched his mother hand the drugged laced goblet of fermented juice to his father.

What would they be like, his sisters, his brothers. Did they know the world that moved on while they lay dormant in the belly of a tyrant?

Could he convince them to be on his side, otherwise?

The act was crude to say the least when the king of all existence began to heave and gag up his supper. And though Zeus knew to expect it, the sight was no less appalling to see when the first body of a fully grown woman with long, tangled locks of walnut that stuck to her face from the wetness of Cronus's innards, no doubt. She was nude and gave a slight shiver at the chill on her damp, uncovered body.

When her radiant green eyes took in her surroundings, she looked like a frightened animal just released from a cage. Zeus felt an urge to go and comfort her, but there wasn’t time before another heave.

Another body, this one of a man with black matted hair, emerged from their father’s mouth. He wasn’t as frightened as the woman, perhaps understanding a little better by now what was happening.

They were being freed.

Another heave, and out came a woman with hair, skin and eyes the color of freshly tilled dirt. She also didn’t look frightened, but certainly confused.

Another heave, and a man emerged, this one looking unnervingly aware. His eyes as red as burning coals landed on Zeus’s and, to the young god’s surprise, the man gave a curt nod.

Like he understood what was happening, like he understood what was going on as well as Zeus himself.

A final, more violent heave and out came the only sibling Zeus had ever heard the name of: Hestia. Her smooth skin was the tone of ground sumac and her eyes and hair were as black as Nyx’s element. Unlike the others, she landed gracefully on her feet, just before turning towards Cronos. That’s when Zeus saw it, a radiation of light coming from one of her hands like she was holding a small whitish sun in her fingers.

Cronos, having been weakened by the drugs that forced him to regurgitate his devoured children, fled after spitting a curse to his wife Rhea.

He undoubtedly left for Mount Othrys to seek the aid of his fellow Titans.

The Olympians would have little time now. Decisions were to be made.

Zeus did not give chase. Instead he stood, in proud victory, over his freed siblings, though they were not the sight he had hoped to see. Though similar in structure of flesh and bone like he was, and close enough in size, Zeus was discomforted by the wild, animalistic sprawl of creatures before him covered in goo from their life giver, and masses of long, untamed wet hair clinging to unclothed bodies.

“What are we to do now?” the first woman to emerge asked, still sprawled out on the ground.

“You know what we must do, Hera,” answered the man who looked to Zeus earlier. “We have to fight.”

“But we don't know how to fight!” claimed the woman with dark features. “We barely have the strength to stand.”

Zeus wanted to speak, wanted to greet and even shake hands with the siblings he had heard so much about. After all, they were the reason he had done any of this.

He needed them.

They were his kind.

His brothers.

His sisters.

They were to fulfil this destiny of ruling the world with him, at his side. The Fates had seen it. Now they need only see it through.

Instead, his mother moved to his side, standing as all the titans did a great deal larger than he and her other children whom she hadn’t seen in such a long time. Her hand went around his shoulders and he felt her suggestion of patience wash over him.

“Hades is right.” It was Hestia who spoke this time, her eyes still watching the direction of their father, no, their captor had fled. “Demeter, I know you have fear. But we must. We have to fight.”

It was the other brother this time that cut in, standing erect and stretching out muscles that Zeus was surprised to find as well defined as his own. “We don’t have any reason to fight. We’re free now. Let’s go about our lives and be done with this. These are just politics, we’ve heard through that beast’s guts that this is just politics. I want to go find something to do, someone to do. I want to explore this world.”

“I want to fight, Poseidon. I’m going to fight.”

“Agh,” grunted the toned one.

Hades spoke up, a look of concentration on his face. “We must come up with a plan. He’s certainly gone to tell his followers what’s happened and they’ll be coming soon to slaughter us all.”

“Slaughter us!” cried Hera, struggling to stand on her thin, wobbling legs. It reminded Zeus of a newborn deer. “Then we must go, we must hide until we’re ready!”

“I can help.” All the heads turned to Zeus, which was enough to make them all go quiet. He was beautiful to say the least, dressed in a clean white shining chiton held up by a golden pin his grandmother Gaia had fastened him. All around him shone a radiance that would have made him difficult to stare at for too long by weaker eyes, but to his delight the others could take him in. His own silver eyes and wide toothy smile did little to ease the nerves of his siblings though. He realized they did not know who he was. No matter how many conversations they could have listened to, as they only knew what Cronus had seen, there was no way for them to have known Zeus was the sixth of the union between Cronus and Rhea.

“My children,” Rhea balled, walking with arms wide open towards what, to her, were miniature people. “I have longed for this day, the day that I could hold you in my arms and hear your sweet voice, a gift to mothers that I was denied!” She dropped to her knees and brought her arms around them, taking all but Zeus into her embrace as her whaling grew louder. “I have dreamed of this, I have dreamed you would be returned to me, and it is all thanks to your brother, your incredible baby brother.”

When everyone’s eyes instantly fell upon him, Zeus, for the first time in his life, blushed.

Baby brother indeed.

“And does this savior have a name?” asked the small Hera.

He smiled at the sound of her sweet voice.

She was becoming a quick favorite.

“I am Zeus.”

“How did you avoid our fate?” asked Poseidon, his brow furrowed as he stepped out of their mother’s embrace.

“I traded him with a boulder just before your wretched father tried to gobble him up,” she answered quickly, “Mother Gaia helped me plan it. Just as she and Father Sky helped plan this. The freedom of the Olympians.”

“Is that what we are?” asked Demeter timidly. “We’re Olympians. Not Titans?”

“No, not Titans,” spat Zeus. “We are better. And we will rise to better. But first, we must leave this place and devise a plan.”

“Then I suppose you could use all the help you could get, hm?”

The voice came from someone new, with a voice that was soft, tender and exceedingly feminine. Walking from the ocean that cast waves onto the rocks appeared a woman, but not just any woman.

This woman exuded an aroma of roses and salt water and flesh smooth, lightly oiled. She was draped in a sheer white linen that clung to the curves of her breasts and hips.

They all knew who she was, for the goddess needed no introduction with an entrance as show stopping as a comet crashing into the Earth.

“Aphrodite!” exclaimed Rhea, “I’m so glad you came!”

She stood between the Titaness and Olympians height, her breasts conveniently eye level with Zeus and Poseidon who had yet to tear their hungry eyes away from her ample bosom.

“I’m here with good news. Themis, Epimetheus and Prometheus said that they will join our cause.”

“You mean the Titans?” Zeus exclaimed, surprised by the alliance. “Mother, you said we couldn't’ trust any of the Titans.”

“No, son, I told you we shouldn’t ask for their aid. That is, until the time is right. And it needed to be done when, if someone were to betray us to Cronus, it would happen when we already freed your brothers and sisters. Themis and Prometheus are fine soldiers. I suppose they will do us a great good.” She turned back to Aphrodite, disturbed at the lack of names. “But what of Oceanus?” Surely her brother knew how important this was.

The goddess shook her beautiful head of burgundy curls. “He is unable to leave the seas to fight with us. But he sends his daughter Styx and her children Zelus, Nike, Cratos and Bia.”

Rhea crossed her arms, sticking the nail of her thumb in her mouth as she pondered aloud, “Yes, but will it be enough.”

It was Hestia who spoke up this time, her voice steady and well mannered as if she hadn’t spent her entire existence lost in a black abyss with her brothers and sisters. “If it’s alliances you seek, perhaps amongst your enemy is not who you need to implore. But rather, the enemy of the enemy.”

“Who do you have in mind?” asked Zeus curiously.

“Tell me, what do you know of the Hecatonchires and Cyclopes?”

“The-the Hecatonchires?” Rhea looked aghast at the suggestion. “Those monsters would do us no good, they would sooner rip us all to pieces with their hundred hands!”

“They hate your husband for hiding them away in Gaia,” Aphrodite pointed out. “They might prove a worthy ally.”

“They’re deep within Tartarus for all we know, how could we possibly find the, free them, and convince them to help us?”

“I can go,” offered Zeus. “I can do this, it’s my destiny to see this through.”

Before she could offer up an objection, the other Olympians agreed.

“You free them and we will meet with the defecting Titans,” Hestia decided. “We can begin preparations for battle by the time you get back.”

Rhea, Aphrodite noticed, looked somewhat clammy at the idea though not a word left her lips. The goddess wondered if the Titaness realized exactly what it was she had started.

A war was coming.

#greek #gods #greek gods #olympians #the sins of gods #aphrodite #zeus #hera #posiedon #hestia #demeter #the olympians #Olympus #Titans #Rhea #Cronus #Original #original writing #writing

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mordoriscalling · 4 years

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The Second Waltz (pt. 4/5)

(Part 1&2 Part 3)

The day after the ball, Jaskier went downstairs half past noon. After all, he had gone to bed well past midnight, which was a sufficient justification for his late arrival to breakfast. Nobody needed to know that he couldn’t fall asleep because thoughts about a certain witcher had kept him awake until it was no longer dark outside.

When he entered the dining room, he found no one there, which wasn’t an unwelcome surprise. The young Viscount sat down at the table and started eating, trying not to revisit the certain memories of the previous day. He didn't want to think about how his family would continue to tease him about his behaviour.

Just as Jaskier thought that, his father walked in.

“Oh, Julian!” Lord Pankratz greeted his son cheerfully, “We’re alone, good.”

The words made Jaskier freeze. “What do you mean, father?”

Count Alfred Pankratz sat down across his son. His usual gaiety gave way to seriousness as he answered, “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Jaskier’s studied his father’s expression, looking for any clues as to whether he should be worried. “Has something happened?” he asked. Then, it occurred to him what could be the reason for this conversation – it had taken place before. “Please don’t tell me that scandalous rumours about me are circling around again.”

Lord Pankratz’s dark green eyes twinkled. “Why, dear son,” he replied, “I should say that they erupted like a wildfire after your... spirited dance with Geralt of Rivia.”

Jaskier looked down at his plate, his cheeks hot. Count de Lettenhove only chuckled, for at this point he knew there was nothing to be done about his son’s untamable nature. In fact, he had grown to appreciate and be fond of that particular trait in his middle child. It was very similar to his wife’s character, and he admired her greatly.

“This is not what we want to discuss with you, however,” he told his son. Letting out a heavy sigh, he went on, “As you know, we’ve been struggling with monsters on our lands for a long time.”

Jaskier nodded. There were many kikimora nests all over the Lettenhove county, and wyverns were a strangely common occurrence as well. No matter how many times witchers were hired to deal with the monsters, the issue returned quickly. Some thought their lands to be cursed.

“After the recent kikimora attack, we’ve come to the conclusion that special measures should be taken,” Lord Pankratz said, “Your mother advised me to write to Master Vesemir of the Wolf School to request aid. Master Vesemir judged our monster infestation problem as rather grave and proposed a certain... lasting solution.” Count de Lettenhove’s hands fidgeted and it suddenly struck Jaskier that his father was nervous. “It would a contract between Lettenhove and Kaer Morhen,” he carried on explaining, “effective for years to come. The witchers of the Wolf School would regularly patrol our lands and kill monsters in exchange for funds. As a way of sealing this contract, one of my children, who conveniently are renowned bards, would enter a... binding partnership with one of the witchers.”

“A binding partnership,” Jaskier echoed flatly.

“Marriage, Julian.”

“Oh,” Jaskier could only say. “With who?”

Lord Pankratz watched him warily. “Master Vesemir chose Geralt of Rivia as the one to be married.” He paused, anticipating some kind of reaction from his son, but there came none. Jaskier only stared at him, his face carefully blank, so the Count went on, “And well, we were very glad to see you and him get along–”

Jaskier rose from his seat so abruptly that the chair fell to the floor. He directed an accusing pointing finger at Lord Pankratz, for he now understood everything. “You! You planned this!” he cried, “You and mother both, and you didn’t tell me a thing! Why?!”

“We know your free spirit,” his father replied, painfully honest, “You would’ve done your best to disappear, had we told you earlier.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, then quickly closed it – he couldn’t deny his father’s words.

Lord Pankratz let out a rueful sigh. “I’m sorry that it has to be you, Julian, I truly am. Yet we simply couldn’t do that to Priscilla, and Essi is a bit too young.”

The Viscount pursed his lips but again found himself unable to disagree. “When?” his ground out, his jaw clenched tight.

There was immense sadness in his father’s eyes as he answered, “Next month.”

“All right, then,” Jaskier replied sharply. He then stormed out of the room and out of the Palace, barely aware of his surroundings. Fury almost blinded him.

His legs carried him through the gardens, then towards the charming little forest that stood at the end of the grounds adjacent to the Palace. The brisk walk did nothing to help with getting the anger out of his system. In fact, the scorching heat of the day, rather unusual for May, had an opposite effect. Jaskier had to strip out of his doublet and unlace his chemise not to go absolutely mad, and when he finally reached the shade of the wood, he nearly teared up in relief. The Viscount wandered only a bit further, until he reached a small stream. He splashed its water all over his face and neck to cool down, almost soaking his chemise completely. After doing so, he sat down by the nearby oak tree, leaning his back against the massive trunk. Closing his eyes, Jaskier simply breathed in and tried to sort his thoughts.

He believed himself to be a true songbird in everything but physical form. He hated to be caged and always longed to fly free, after all. Being a witcher’s bard was practically a perfect way of living for him – he would gladly bear the tie of the partnership (that wasn’t too constricting anyway) in exchange for the constant travel and new wonders to immortalize in song. The commitment of being married to a witcher, however, displeased him greatly. Jaskier was aware that he was too self-absorbed to be married to anyone without hurting both parties.

The sound of a horse’s snort startled him out of his morose contemplation. Jaskier stood up and searched the surrounding with his gaze... only to see Geralt of Rivia himself, leading a chestnut horse by the reins a short distance away. Both the witcher and the Viscount froze in shock at the sight of each other, and Jaskier couldn’t help but notice that the handsome monster hunter looked even more impressive with the black armour on and the two swords on his back. His white hair caught the sunlight seeping through the trees and his golden eyes seemed to glow as they lingered on Jaskier.

Suddenly Jaskier realised what kind of picture he made – his chemise was still wet and unlaced, so it clung to his body and revealed his chest hair, leaving very little to the imagination. With a brazen smirk, Jaskier straightened his posture and put his hands on his hips, cocking them to the side. The witcher’s gaze followed the action in a rather appreciative manner, briefly roaming over Jaskier’s body before focusing on his face.

The bright gold met the cornflower blue and all at once, the yesterday’s memories of their dancing came back to Jaskier – the heat, the thrill, the breathlessness. Now, however, the experience was tainted with the truth of their situation, and Jaskier couldn’t fight the bitterness in his voice as he asked, “Did you find me satisfactory?”

The witcher let out a confused little “hmm?” that Jaskier refused to find endearing. “Yesterday, when we danced,” he clarified, “Did you deem me good enough to marry?”

Geralt of Rivia scowled formidably. “I didn’t know it was you,” he replied, “And I didn’t know about the arrangement either.” These words made Jaskier scoff. “I swear,” the White Wolf insisted with a growl, “If they’d told me, they wouldn’t have found me ever again.”

Jaskier strangely found comfort in this. The anger in him deflated as he let out a slow breath. He eyed his future spouse wearily, taking in his armour, swords and horse again.

Then, an idea struck him.

“We really could run away.”

Geralt looked at Jaskier as if he went insane. Then, he deadpanned, “Don’t tempt me.” Intrigued, Jaskier was about to say something, but the witcher spoke first, “We need this contract. Kaer Morhen is falling apart and we haven’t got the funds to properly restore it. My reputation, too...” he trailed off, then huffed. “I need a bard.”

As if that explained everything, the White Wolf tugged at his horse’s reins and started walking ahead, not even sparing Jaskier a glance. Jaskier, wholly overtaken by the urge to execute his brilliant idea, wouldn’t be ignored. He jogged up to the witcher’s side and stood in his way.

“Let’s run away,” he said.

Geralt looked at Jaskier like he was the most vexing creature in the world. Jaskier, not cowered by the White Wolf’s furious stare, added, “For just a fortnight.”

This, Jaskier could see, made the witcher’s resolve crack slightly, so he pressed on, “We will leave no note, send no letters, just to make them mad with worry so that they will repent for the secrecy.”

“Hmm.”

“I’ll have enough coin to cover all the costs of travel.”

“Fuck.”

“I won’t be but a silent backup –”

“Fine.”

The witcher’s irritated grunt made Jaskier beam. His happy grin seemed to placate Geralt somewhat. “Let’s meet at the stables after dinner, then,” he said.

“Pack light,” Geralt grumbled.

This made Jaskier smile even more.

A few hours later, the Viscount finally got introduced to the rest of the special guests. He found that Lady Yennefer was just as terrifying as she looked, and Lady Triss and Mister Eskel were both amicable and overall a wonderful company. Jaskier’s sisters appeared to think so as well, since although they stayed wary of Lady Yennefer’s merciless wit, Priscilla seemed to have made fast friends with Lady Triss, while Essi and Eskel were clearly quite taken with each other. As regarding the latter development, Jaskier decided that he and the Wolf witcher will have words soon, for he wasn’t sure he could allow his dearest, sweetest, seventeen-year-old Poppet to leave for the Path just yet.

That conversation was to come later, however. First, there was the escape. After Jaskier and his family ate dinner with their four special guests, both the Viscount and the White Wolf excused themselves before they joined the rest for the evening. Jaskier said that he had to fetch his lute, while Geralt announced that he would first check on his horse, for the mare had seemed unwell. What Jaskier did go to grab was actually both his lute and his travel pack, and Geralt’s horse (named Roach, for reasons Jaskiers couldn’t begin to fathom) in truth seemed to be in good health as she carried them both away from the Palace.

Jaskier was almost heady from the success of the little scheme but his joy didn’t last long. As they stopped in the fields for the night and lit the bonfire, Lady Yennefer portalled into the middle of the campsite, almost giving Jaskier a heart attack. Geralt had failed to mention that apparently, sorceresses could make use of what was called “tracking spells”.

“What is the meaning of this?!” she thundered.

The White Wolf only smirked and pointed to Jaskier. “It was his idea,” he said.

Jaskier gasped at the betrayal. He was about to call Geralt a bastard but then Yennefer’s lightning-like eyes were on him, taking away his ability to speak.

“Mister Pankratz,” the sorceress addressed him, her voice calm but with a detectable threat undreneath, “your family are worried sick. I’m asking you to go back home on their behalf.”

“I will not,” Jaskier mustered a reply. Yennefer narrowed her eyes at him but he only raised his chin defiantly. “If you’d be so kind, Lady Yennefer, please pass my deepest, sincere apologies on to my sisters. Please also tell my parents that they can expect me back home in two weeks’ time. This –” he gestured at the campsite vaguely “– is what I believe to be the best way to get to know my future spouse and the reality of our approaching, arranged partnership. It’s an opportunity which my parents denied me, for they told me nothing about the marriage until this morning, and I refuse not to seize the chance now that I’m here.”

To his surprise, Yennefer relented.

At the beginning of their travels, Jaskier and Geralt learned all the ways in which they were incompatible. Jaskier was a flurry of music and motion, which assaulted Geralt’s sensitive witcher senses. Moreover, Jaskier kept complaining about the discomforts of the Path and camping in the wild, and his incessant whining, together with all the noise he made, irritated Geralt beyond belief. The witcher was at the end of his tether at all times, which made him quick to snap at Jaskier for any reason. Jaskier bore Geralt’s bad temper up to a point but as days passed, the witcher’s prickliness was beginning to put him off more and more. Geralt also didn’t engage in any kind of conversation with “his” bard, and the witcher’s dismissive silences were perhaps what hurt Jaskier the most.

By the end of their first week together, they could barely stand each other’s company. They were both in a foul mood, as their forcedly-shared future was looking rather bleak, but then something happened that kick-started a change in their dynamic – Geralt took a contract to get rid of a noonwraith. The pay for the job seemed meagre even to Jaskier but the White Wolf accepted only half of it. When Jaskier asked him why he had done that, the witcher replied, “Look around. This village is so poor that I’m surprised they collected as much money as they did.”

It was at this moment that Jaskier realised that the White Wolf was kind. He was kind and willing to sacrifice his well-being to protect others, even if they spat at him and called him a Butcher. When Geralt returned wounded to their camp after the hunt, he only laid down on the ground without a word, and Jaskier’s heart broke a little.

“Geralt,” he asked, “what do you need?”

“Silence,” the witcher grunted. After some time, he added, “And the black potion in the green veil.”

Jaskier hurried to fetch it as quietly as he could. From that point on, Jaskier started learning how not to be so self-centred – he stayed silent when he noticed that the witcher couldn’t stand his chatter anymore and tried to complain less. Geralt noticed this and thanked Jaskier for it in his own way, by making sure that his bard was as comfortable as it was possible and gracing Jaskier with instances of his dry humour. Jaskier actually found Geralt quite hilarious. Soon, the two were trading quips and barbs with ease, and the rest of their journey was marked by jokes and challenging stares.

“You know, Geralt,” Jaskier said when they were approaching the Lettenhove Palace, “I can’t wait for our first-second dance. I’m sure you’ll allow me to lead this time, won’t you?”

Geralt only hmmed as he held Jaskier’s gaze, his golden eyes making Jaskier short of breath.

TBC

Part 5

***

A/N: My god, these two dumbasses. I love them. This fic wasn’t supposed to get that long but well... what can you do? XD Tagging @siriusly-the-best-bi and @sometimesiwrite. Part 5 hopefully coming later today.

#myfic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #arranged marriage au #Regency AU

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geraskierficrecs · 4 years

Text

For more Fae Jaskier, check out the AO3 story here.

His hands were covered in blood.

Geralt made a rough sound, fighting against the urge to panic. The body in his arms shuddered again as he ripped off his shirt and pressed it against the open slash across her stomach.

Her stomach.

There’s no pretending the tiny, shivering mass in his arms was a monster. Whatever was left of the curse that created the striga, it had left behind a child that had already lived a life of pain and agony.

Gods, he’d really thought he would be able to save her.

He’d tried so damn hard. Even though he knew how difficult it would be. He’d looked at the father’s face and saw a man who might actually try to give the child a chance. He’d heard the story of lies and lust and horror and thought only about the innocent child who’d been left to bear their burden. Deep in his mind, he’d remembered the line in a forgotten book hidden among Kaer Morhen’s keep and thought, I could save her. I could make this right.

At first it had even seemed like he would succeed in his ridiculous plan.

He’d managed to keep the striga at bay through the long hours of the night. It had been little more than a gory game of cat and mouse, hampered by his desire to keep from doing any serious damage. All he had to do was survive the night. If he could keep her alive just a little longer, she could go home. She could be free.

He should have known better than to try to be a hero. He should have remembered the lesson he’d learned the first time he’d turned, covered in the life’s blood of another, only to hear the screams begin again.

Even with all his training, he couldn’t keep himself from the choice that always came in battle--who would fall. Was Geralt willing to lay down his life to try to save a girl who’d never truly lived?

The answer, apparently, was no.

He’d reacted on instinct. Sword moving like an extension of his body. Sinking deep--too deep. Burying into the stomach of a face shifting from monster to an innocent in one shocking flash.

“Someone help!” Geralt shouted, hoping against all hope that the soldiers of the local lord who’d played his part in this tragedy would hear. Maybe their mage would be enough to save her. “Help her!”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

Geralt froze, shock overwhelming his panic in a dizzying rush. He spun, still holding tight to his makeshift bandage and took in the sight of the fae lounging indolently across a broken, rotting pew in the midst of the ruined chapel.

Despite the five years that had passed since their last encounter, there was no sign of any time passing on his beautiful face--not that Geralt expected it. Fae were immortal, unchanging. A creature dedicated to cruel mischief hidden behind a beautiful mask. The fae watched him in the shadows of the old shrine with a small smile like he knew how much research Geralt had done on the fae after their last meeting. The warnings repeated over and over by countless Witchers rumbled in his ears like an oncoming storm, but it was already too late.

“What are you doing here?” he asked hoarsely. Geralt focused on not looking down at the dark line that wrapped around his forearm like a tattoo. It itched and burned slightly, eager within to be close to its creator.

“How could I not when you were crying out so sweetly?” the fae asked, not looking bothered by the girl bleeding out in Geralt’s arms. “I couldn’t risk someone else coming along and taking advantage of you.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed on the creature. “All you want is for me to owe you another favor.”

“That is one of the many things I want from you, dear Witcher.”

“Can you save her?” The question was tempered by the heartbeat beginning to slow beneath his fingers and the glassy sheen on the girl’s eyes.

The fae barely glanced at the dying girl. “Do you think she should be? You’ll be condemning her to a life she doesn’t understand--if she ever will. She’ll be seen as a monster.”

“It wasn’t her fault!”

“That rarely matters.”

Something in him wanted to rage at the truth of the fae’s words. It settled oddly in the air between them, like an invisible force too large for the space between them. There was something complicated hiding behind the small, humorless smile on the creature’s face--like he was waiting for Geralt to understand something.

But the smell of blood felt like it was all he could think about and the Witcher tightened his hold on the girl like he could channel some of his own strength into her fragile body.

“She deserves a chance,” he rasped, dangerously close to pleading, “please.”

The fae’s smile went flat, a new darkness flickering through his eyes. “You should never beg to a fae. I might begin to crave it.”

Geralt ignored the shiver of anticipation that curled through his stomach at the dangerous rumble. “What do you want then?”

“You’re not ready for the answer to that question, Geralt.”

“Stop being so damned secretive and help me save her!” Geralt growled. “I’ll give you another favor if that’s what it takes.”

“You shouldn’t be so quick to offer such things,” he warned, “There are many who would take advantage of such a thing.”

Geralt’s lips twisted into a bitter line. Why should it matter what happened to him? He was a monster, just as hated as any fae or striga. The humans tolerated his presence when they needed him and the creatures he hunted hated him for what he did. No one would mourn his passing if he were to hand himself over to the fae’s cruel entertainment.

The fae seemed to understand the direction of his thoughts because it stood and moved closer. “Fine then--I’ve never been good at passing up temptation.” He stood just outside of Geralt’s reach and put his hands on his hips. “But my price has gone up.”

Geralt glared at him. “What do you want?”

“This time I want two favors,” he said breezily, brushing away a speck of dirt, “I can’t allow anyone to think I’m going soft.”

The girl’s heartbeat stuttered and Geralt felt his own heart lurch in response. He knew his expression was far too panicked and desperate to attempt to bargain. There wasn’t enough time. It came down to whether Geralt was willing to risk himself and his future to a fae in order to complete this impossible task.

“Fine. Hurry.”

The fae’s eyes went bright and electric, shining with an unholy light as Geralt agreed to his terms. The thin veneer of humanity seemed to tremble beneath his skin and Geralt felt his heart speed up in anticipation--of an attack or something else, he wasn’t sure.

“It’s a deal then.”

As if the words released his magic, the room was flooded with the sharp scent of power and old magic. It crackled along his skin like a lightning storm, bringing with it the scent of meadowgrass and dandelions. Geralt raised his hand to shield his face when light flared out from the girl in his arms and winced when it was paired with a bone deep hum that seemed to dig into the very core of him.

The magic seemed to pulse in hot waves, pressing against the girl’s skin until it began to knit together in front of his eyes faster than even a Witcher could claim. She sucked in a shuddering breath that Geralt subconsciously mimicked. His blood stained fingers raised to trace over the pulse in her neck, slowly growing stronger. He smiled slightly and closed his eyes as the magic began to fade.

She would survive this. He had saved her.

Now he just had to survive the ramifications of his bargain.

The fae was watching him curiously when he opened his eyes again. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you cared for the girl? I thought Witchers didn’t have emotions…”

Geralt didn’t answer the question hidden in the last statement in favor of looking the girl over. “Will she live?”

“I always keep my promises,” the fae said with a tight smile. “We’ll have to see how well you’ll keep yours.”

“A deal is a deal.” Even if it meant more suffering on his part, he couldn’t regret his decision when he could watch the steady rise and fall of an innocent chest. “I pay my debts, fae.”

“Jaskier.”

Geralt looked up with a frown. “What?”

The fae shrugged and turned to talk away. “My name,” he called over his shoulder, “so you know who to cry out for next time.”

He disappeared before Geralt could say that he had no intention of calling for the fae again.

#fae jaskier #bamf jaskier #geraskier #emotional hurt/comfort #hurt geralt #feral jaskier #feral slav energy #nonhuman jaskier #fae!jaskier #bargain magic #fairytale elements

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dudeandduchess · 5 years

Text

To the Ends of the Earth: Kyōjurō x F!S/O (Mythology AU)

Hey hey, bbys! This is the other fic I was talking about earlier. I based this one on Orpheus and Eurydice’s myth. I hope you guys like it as much as I liked writing it. Please tell me what you guys think, as every comment will help me improve my writing. Thank you so much!

Now, we’re going to go back to our regularly scheduled program: i.e. me writing your reqs. Ahaha.

***

Warnings: Manga Spoilers, Talk of Purgatory and the Afterlife, Angst with Happy Ending

She had no choice.

(Y/n)’s current predicament left her no choice but to go crawling back to her parents. It was either that, or she could say goodbye to her beloved husband forever.

Neither of the two choices tickled her fancy, but she knew what she had to do.

She had to get up and out of her pitiful state, wipe her tears away, and march right on to solve her own problem. Because the world surely wasn’t going to do it for her.

And Kyōjurō wasn’t there to pick her up as well. So, she had to do it by herself; whether she liked it or not.

With her head held high, and her face rid of her tears, (Y/n) set on for her course to the mountain that housed the power of the spirits of the dead— and her family’s home: Tateyama; more specifically, Oyama peak.

The journey was long, but it wasn’t arduous; not when she felt more and more energized the closer she got to her childhood home.

Snow immediately greeted her at the foot of the mountain, as she bypassed the old town and headed up the trail that everyone had deemed too dangerous to tread. Dangerous for mortals, maybe, but not for halflings like her.

The air was so thin near the peak, yet she wasn’t even out of breath as she trudged through the knee-deep snow in her Slayer uniform. She didn’t even feel cold, as the warmth that Kyōjurō’s haori provided her was enough to ward off any chill.

“Mother! Father!” She cried aloud at the seemingly empty peak. Her own voice carried over the silence, and echoed up to the other peaks. “I need your help.”

Silence answered her plea, which had her frowning and fighting off another wave of tears. She’d known that going to her parents for help had been a shot in the dark, as a part of her kept telling her before that renouncing her immortality to stay with Kyōjurō would disappoint them greatly.

Renouncing a goddess’ eternal life wasn’t unheard of, but it was a taboo within their social circles. To even walk amongst humans was a taboo that (Y/n) gladly took to; as it had led her to meeting the love of her life.

She got to keep most of her powers, which made her a very efficient demon slayer; so efficient, in fact, that she’d amassed quite the following within the Slayer Corps. Alas, as much as she wanted to teach everyone how to manifest a bow and arrow out of thin air, she couldn’t...

As no one had the same abilities as her.

She was different— always had been— but it was in Kyōjurō’s arms that she’d found the love and acceptance that she had been always been yearning for. She hadn’t found it with anyone else throughout her long life; just with him.

So she didn’t hesitate to give up her own immortality, if it meant that she could grow old and build a family with him...

But the Infinite Train mission had happened, and he had perished under an upper moon’s hand.

The last thing that she wanted was to admit defeat and ask her parents— more specifically, her father— for help, yet there she was: at the top of Tateyama’s second highest peak, and waiting for her old home’s invisible barriers to part and allow her entry.

The demigoddess didn’t know how long she’d stood there, but it was long enough for her tears to freeze and her feet to go numb in the snow.

“Please. Please, help me.” (Y/n) begged once more; even going as far as to get down on her knees and bow down in a dogeza.

More tears flowed freely from her eyes, only to instantly disappear the moment they fell on to the snowy ground.

“I’m begging you... mother, father. Please.”

It felt like an hour had passed for (Y/n), yet she stayed bowed down on the cold ground. Her heart felt so painful that she had taken to digging her nails into her palms, if only to divert her attention.

Yet she could still feel it; and the pain in her heart rendered her brain unable to dwell on anything but her own inner turmoil.

“Lift your head, (Y/n).” Instantly, the demigoddess’ head snapped up, as more and more tears flowed from her eyes. Sobs even threatened to break free from her lips, but she bit down on her bottom lip in an effort to keep them at bay.

Slowly, the ethereal woman sashayed down the stairs that led heavenward— up to the home she had been raised in, in the sky. It was palatial in its size and elegance, but a prison was still a prison— no matter how beautiful it was.

(Y/n) felt her mother’s familiar powers wash over her; cleaning the tear tracks from her cheeks and righting her fragile human body up into standing. She could only look on and take the other woman’s face to memory, as she wasn’t sure if it was going to be the last time that she ever saw her.

As it was, she hadn’t seen her parents ever since she married Kyōjurō— which was nearing three years at that point. And she realized that no matter how badly they had ended their last conversation, she still felt so much love and affection for both of them.

And it seemed that her mother felt the same, as she was immediately engulfed in the older goddess’ arms. Being the deity of snow, she was cold to the touch, but (Y/n) didn’t mind at all as she burrowed further against her mother.

“I’m so sorry for saying all of those hurtful things to you and father,” The young woman helplessly sobbed. “I didn’t mean any of them. I’m so sorry.”

“And both of us are sorry as well... for not seeing things from your perspective. But we understand now; and we accept your decision fully. We accept you and Kyōjurō fully...” Yukihime answered in her gentle tone; all while tears marred those flawlessly pale cheeks of hers.

At that, (Y/n) clung tighter to her mother and resisted the urge to succumb to another breakdown. She had already had so many of those in the days following Kyōjurō’s death; she didn’t want to have any more, as they were extremely taxing on already broken heart.

She explained what had happened, not sparing all of the grisly details— which had Yukihime gritting her teeth in anger. Had she been allowed to do so, she would have already rained down her wrath upon Kibutsuji Muzan, but full-fledged deities such as herself and her husband weren’t allowed to interfere with the happenings between humans and demons.

So her hands were tied. She could only hold her daughter closer and run her fingers through the young woman’s hair; like she had done when (Y/n) was a child.

“It’s a good thing your father isn’t here, because he would surely break the rules and smite that damned Kibutsuji,” Yukihime snarled the demon progenitor’s name, then added, “As if the humans needed more pests in their world. Nothing but the result of a paltry mortal trying to play as a god.”

With that, Yukihime whisked her daughter up the grand stairs that led up to their home; completely unmindful of the Yūrei that tried to grab at the tail ends of her kimono.

As the wife of the the keeper of purgatory’s keys, a lot of restless spirits tended to follow her around in the hopes that she would help them; but she couldn’t, as doing so would warrant great challenges.

And, whether mortals wanted to believe it or not, gods were vain and selfish. They only cared about themselves or those related to them. They did things that would benefit them greatly; not because they were kind enough to bestow blessings upon their hordes of supporters.

It was why (Y/n) didn’t fit in in the first place, as she genuinely cared about the mortals that revered her parents... and the few who praised her as well.

Once inside the palatial house, Yukihime immediately transported them to the sulfur baths and ordered her daughter to soak herself within the bath; with her clothes and all.

“It’s to keep your sweet, mortal scent from attracting more Yūrei,” The goddess had explained softly, as she silently recounted all of her trips to the underworld and mapped out which way was the easiest to take.

It took her a few minutes to do so, but once she was sure that her daughter would be taking the safest route, she said, “From here you have to go to Shōmyō falls. When you get there, climb up to the very top of the falls and jump down. You have enough of mine and your father’s blood in you for the gates of hell to recognize you...

But... when you get down to purgatory, be sure to take Kyōjurō and leave. Don’t look at anyone, don’t talk to anyone and— most importantly— don’t look back at Kyōjurō until you two have gotten up to the surface. A door will be there, and only those who bear the blood of the gods can enter. Be sure to not let go of your husband’s hand while walking through that doorway...”

Yukihime prattled on, giving her daughter advice on how to deal with any problems that should arise. And when all was said, she transported (Y/n) close to where Shōmyō Falls was.

***

The trek going to the lip of the waterfall was much more difficult than going up the mountain, as demons and spirits littered the area. She had to dispose of the handful of demons that she had come across, as she had sworn to do so when she became a Slayer.

It ate up more time than she wanted, but it was inevitable. But still, when she made it to the very tip of the waterfall, she closed her eyes and took one last step off of the ledge.

The wind rushed past her ears and whipped her hair every which way; and it made her want to scream, but she held herself from doing so, as making any unnecessary noise would attract the attention of more restless spirits than she could handle.

There was nothing but the whistling of the wind around her for a while— much longer than she had anticipated, which made her heart race in fear. Had she been a full-fledged goddess, she could survive the impact of the fall, but as a halfling... her chances of survival weren’t looking good.

But then, the cold air around her became suffocating; extremely hot and uncomfortable. So uncomfortable, in fact, that it made breathing such a difficult task.

The only silver lining was that with the heat came the slowing of her descent.

She finally opened her eyes when she felt herself practically floating down, and suppressed a gasp when she saw all of the reikon in purgatory.

All of them were wandering aimlessly— awaiting the arrival of their ancestors, so that they could be taken to the afterlife. While some... she couldn’t even begin to describe the sickening emotions wafting off of the others.

Those vengeful spirits were bound to become Yūrei; doomed to roam the earth in search of the justice or revenge that their soul craved.

(Y/n) felt sorry for them, and she wanted to help, but she kept looking around her as she drew closer and closer to the ground— searching for that head of fiery blond hair that she had come to love.

And it didn’t take long for her to spot him. He was standing off to the side, with his arms crossed— all while sporting a small smile on his face.

The moment her feet touched the warm ground, she took off in a sprint towards him— uncaring of all the souls that she had pushed out of her way. All that mattered to her was him.

She immediately wrapped her arms around him, as she roughly bit down on her bottom lip to keep herself from sobbing.

“(Y/n)?” Kyōjurō asked, clearly surprised as he wrapped his own arms around his wife. Then, that was when worry crashed over him like a tidal wave... “You’re not... you’re not dead, are you?”

“No,” She answered through her tears, as she shook her head. “I’m here to get you out. Come on.”

Kyōjurō wanted, more than anything, to go— but he was held back by his own morals. It would be highly unfair if he got to cheat death, per se; and that harped heavily on his conscience.

“Please, Kyō,” His wife pleaded desperately. “We don’t have much time.”

It might have been unfair of him to do so, but he still had unfinished business. And he still had to make good on all of the promises he’d uttered to (Y/n) when they got married, so the Hashira found himself nodding. “Okay. Let’s go.”

With that, (Y/n) took his right hand in hers, and dragged him towards the doors that her mother had told her about. She also made a point to always stay in front of Kyōjurō, and forced herself not to look at him over her shoulder.

“Why aren’t you looking at me, my love?” Kyōjurō asked softly, as he followed his wife up the seemingly endless steps that were carved into the sides of a spiraling ravine.

“I... I can’t; not until we get to the surface.”

“Who told you that?”

“My mother. I asked for her help... but my father wasn’t there.”

A bright smile tugged up at the Flame Hashira’s lips, as he readjusted his grip on (Y/n)’s hand and pulled her down a few steps— so that he could press a kiss against the back of her head.

The gesture warmed (Y/n)’s heart immensely, as a watery smile made its way onto her own lips. It had been merely a few days since he’d been gone, but she couldn’t deny that she’d immensely missed his kisses— and just him in general.

“You’ve made up with her; that’s amazing news, my love! Should I look forward to spending New Year at your parents’ home?” Kyōjurō stated with a teasing lilt to his tone, which had his wife giggling despite the new set of tears that fell from her eyes.

It seemed that she had cried more in the short time she’d been half mortal, compared to how much she’d cried in the few hundred years she’d been alive as a full-fledged goddess. But. She wasn’t complaining; as feeling so much was something so genuinely human that immortals could never understand.

It was something that she had, that all of the much more relevant deities could never take away from her. “Maybe. Let’s check how my father feels about it first.”

After that exchange, the couple made their way up the spiraling steps. (Y/n) stumbled a few times, but she was lucky enough as Kyōjurō caught her each and every time.

The Hashira had even taken to pushing her up the last few steps, with his hands cupping his wife’s firmly rounded behind.

Still, even as they emerged onto the surface— and Kyōjurō’s hands had snaked up to a much more appropriate spot on either side of (Y/n)’s hips— she still refused to look at him, just to be sure.

It wasn’t until they were a few meters away from the narrow cave opening that they had exited that Kyōjurō turned his wife around and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

He could feel his own tears streaming down his face, while small hands gripped the back of his uniform in tight fists.

And for the nth time that week, (Y/n) wailed so loudly that it was enough to grip her husband’s heart in a vise like grip. She sounded so anguished that the guilt of causing her that much pain gnawed at him.

“I’m so sorry for leaving you, my love. I’m so sorry.” He whispered softly, as his arms pulled her further against his chest.

It was only then that Kyōjurō realized the severity of his actions. In sacrificing himself, he had hurt the love of his life so much— and he swore, from that moment on, that he would be more careful.

Because he should have been the one saving (Y/n); not the other way around. That, and he never wanted to cause her pain ever again.

((If you liked my work, please consider buying me a ko-fi. Thank you so much! :D))

#kyoujurou rengoku x reader #rengoku kyoujurou x reader #rengoku kyoujurou #kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kny x reader #kny fanfiction #kny imagines #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer rengoku #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #jen writes #angst

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etlunainmorte · 5 years

Text

“Any last words, Little Lamb?”

The tears just fell and your heart ached awfully.

The entity, who, apparently, was loyal only to its real “Master”, has brought you involuntarily to the death’s door. You knew there was no turning back.

You bowed down low, letting your tears fall on the ground. Controlling your sobs, you looked up and glanced into his empty bloodshot eyes one last heart - wrenching time, and let out the words you so wanted to tell him for the last ten years,…

The massive heart of the Dreadnought pulsated weakly in response to your dying heart. With a soft voice, you whispered your feelings, pouring out all of the emotions and frustrations that piled up over the years of being controlled by the entity.

“I love you, V.”

For a moment, the man let the sword down, seemingly conflicted with something. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he started chortling, a bit soft, at first. Then it gradually became louder as he slicked his dark locks and threw his head back.

Your heart felt like it just shattered into a million pieces at the same time that the massive heart of the Dreadnought lost its radiance.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the pain.

With a deep sigh, V raised the Yamato above his head, gripping its hilt with his weak, trembling hands and pointing it to your stomach.

His thirst taking hold of his entire being and engulfing what little humanity he had left, he declared with every inch of the true Devil within him,

“I choose,… POWER!”

***

I See My Future Before Me - Alternate Endings

***

You could hardly believe everything that happened that one, fateful day. V, who gained a great deal of power from the three Sisters of Fate, Cassandra, Andromeda, and Galatea, revealed that he was none other than Vergil, himself: Dante's twin brother who was thought to be dead.

And with this insane amount of power, all of his wounds did not only heal. He gained his true form, as well.

However, what shocked you the most was not V revealing who he really was.

It was when he finally revealed his true intentions to everyone.

Searching for a great power to defeat Dante, and searching for an even greater one to keep his weak and fragile, mortal form, void of its all powerful Demonic half, intact without a single care of any of the consequences,...

It was,... too much for your own heart to bear.

The moment he agreed to the pleas of the powerless Lamb, Galatea, to set you free in order to receive the other entities that kept you alive and immortal for a long time, he,... has merely forgotten about you.

Well, he still knew you. He knew (Y/N) (L/N).

What he forgot were his feelings towards you,... when he was still V. From the ashes of those feelings he had for you when he was still in the fragile and vulnerable form of the poet and Summoner known simply as V, the adoration, the admiration, the glimpses of what could be considered as love, rose a man as cold as the winter evening. A warrior that was even stronger than Mundus, himself. From the remnants of the man you loved and would love until your dying breath, a Devil, who would never, ever love you in return, not while he's still alive, not even after his death, and not in a million years, was born.

His name,...

... was Vergil Sparda,...

After mercilessly killing Pandemonium of Destruction, the Demon behind the Dreadnought, and Lord Fleminger, the man behind all the insidious plans, the man descended to the Underworld and made his name known to all who dwelled in it. He overthrew its former ruler, Mundus, and murdered what remained of his three powerful loyal servants and their armies - Bedlam of Insanity, and Maelstrom of Calamity. He searched every nook and cranny of the foul place, murdering all who dared to lift even a single finger against him, until the only ones who were left were those who were unable to fight. Sitting on the throne that used to belong to Mundus, with the bloodstained Yamato on his hand, he ruled over them,...

... and what remained of humanity after his onslaught.

Humans and Demons alike were powerless against him. With Dante, the one hope, the one ray of light for the weak, gone, also by his twin brother's own hand, you, or Galatea, who remained by your side through this genocide and all this heartbreaking tragedy, could not do anything against him.

And you, being a weak human, were spared by Vergil. It was,... an act of mercy from the new King, the one Alpha and Omega, who ruled all. You had no other choice but to follow him as his servant and do all of his bidding.

However, there came a time when Vergil needed all of the Sisters of Fate back.

He needed Galatea.

But, why?

"Sparda." Vergil simply told you that one day as you stood and humbled yourself before him. "I could not find Sparda, even with Cassandra's guidance. I need the Past, the Present, and the Future by my hand in order to locate him. I need the weapons to find their forger."

"My Lord," You uttered, as meekly as you could, as you avoided his cold, cold eyes. " ... may I ask why you need to find Sparda?"

"FOOL!" His word cut through your heart and through the deafening silence of the room like a hot blade against ice. "Do you think I would stop after spilling blood all over this land? Until I find and kill the Last Knight, I would never be able to completely rule over this world!"

"He's,... " You stuttered, then took a deep breath. You had to remind yourself that he would never lift a finger against you. But that was only due to the fact that you still have Galatea within you. "But, he's your f - father,..."

Vergil did not say anything. Instead, he stood up from his throne and came down towards you. Step by loud, frightening step, he descended, until he was mere inches from you.

Only then did he make you look at him by forcefully propping your chin up with the hilt of the Yamato.

"You have no right to deny what's rightfully mine." He spoke, his rage seething, his anger overwhelming you. "You are but a mere, disposable vessel who kept my weapons safe. I have looked upon you with merciful eyes, spared you, and protected you against the malice of these,... foul creatures.

"I now humbly ask this of you,... before it is too late." The man, then, removed the Yamato from you and unsheathed it, pointing the blade at you as a final warning. "I demand you to give what is rightfully mine. Do it,... for the sake of the man you love, worship and adore."

Your voice may falter, your knees may wobble, and your heart may fall apart. Despite that, you,...

... would never let him win.

Not this time.

"The man I love, worship, and adore," You declared with utter resolution as you slowly looked up at Vergil's eyes. " ... IS DEAD!"

***

@la-vita and @clevermentalitybeliever .

***

Before Vergil could even retaliate, the woman, that he once loved, worshipped, and adored when he was still a weak and fragile poet, raised the metal cane that he thoughtlessly discarded when he finally gained the power he sought, and let Galatea, the most powerful of the three Sisters of Fate, possess it.

Casting an unbelievable and powerful form of light that blinded Vergil, the metal cane radiated warmth and gave the woman enough power to do one last bravery to end his tyranny. Calling upon those three discarded thoughts that once helped Vergil in his time of need, she was able to push the evil man away with the sheer light that emanated from the cane.

With the last ounce of Galatea's power, the discarded thoughts of Vergil's past formed into a majestic bird, a ferocious tiger, and a massive golem that lent an even greater power to the metal cane in the woman's hand.

And with the last ounce of her strength and what probably remained of her own life force, she drove the metal cane to Vergil's chest.

Push after agonizing push, the woman drove the cane deep into his chest, the sheer sensation of it tearing her own heart apart.

Tearing her own emotions apart.

With the voices of those incarnated thoughts that urged her to end this evil, all of those memories of the past came cascading down upon her as Vergil's breathing slowly ceased.

Of her running away from him, of her being rejected by him. Of her simply walking with him, of her excitedly talking with him. Of her smiling at him, of her being smiled back by him,...

... of her dancing with him on that moonlit Grecian balcony, and of her seeing him after ten long years of searching.

After a hundred years worth of waiting,...

Oh, how it hurt,...

... it hurt so much.

Ending the man she loved above all else,...

... it hurt so, so much.

As the light of the cane ebbed away, the woman pulled it from his chest and threw it away. She kneeled and took his almost limp body. As his battered eyelids fluttered and his bloodstained mouth formed incomprehensible phrases, the two Sisters, Cassandra and Andromeda, left his body and disappeared like ashes in the wind, never to be seen again. Then, Galatea, along with the three discarded thoughts, appeared one last time before her, saying their farewells, and disintegrated into nothingness, leaving her with the man who was dying because of her.

And the man? Slowly, slowly,...

... he turned back into the man he once was.

Silver eyes slowly turning into green ones, white hair becoming longer, and muscular frame morphing into that familiar weak form,…

He changed back into the mysterious man called V,...

It was in this pitiful state of sorrow and hopelessness when the Last Knight Sparda finally made himself known to the woman.

Crying, worn down, and void of happiness, he found her there, cradling the lifeless body of the man she loved.

His own son.

She looked up at him with gladness as if he was her last hope.

"Forgive me." The Last Knight spoke. "For allowing you to bear all this pain. For letting you carry this task alone. For allowing the prophecy to come into fruition. Forgive me."

The woman smiled at him as tears rolled down her beautiful, tired face.

"Let me join him, please." She uttered her last wish. "Give me,… peace."

And as Sparda raised his own weapon to oblige and allow her this one last act of kindness and mercy, the lullaby that softly came from her lips rang in his ears until her last breath, haunting his soul forevermore,...

Wept for me, for thee, for all,

When He was an infant small.

Thou His image ever see,

Heavenly face that smiles on thee.

Smiles on thee, on me, on all,

Who became an infant small,

Infant smiles are His own smiles,

Heaven and earth to peace beguiles,...

***

#devil may cry 5 #vitale sparda #vergil sparda #i see my future before me - alternate endings #v x reader #v x you #vergil x reader #vergil x you #i see only darkness #vergil ending

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flightfoot · 5 years

Text

Useful Tyrant’s Tombs quotes

So I know I’m gonna be writing analyses on this book in the future, so I decided to go ahead and pull potentially useful quotations now so I don’t have to hunt for them and type them up later. I figure others might get some good use out of them too though, so I wanted to share them! (I’ll admit though, some of the quotations aren’t ones I think I might use, a few I just put because I really like them)

This song really wasn’t about me at all. (I know. I could hardly believe it, either.) It was “The Fall of Jason Grace”. In the last verses, I sang of Jason’s dream for Temple Hill, his plan to add shrines until ever god and goddess, no matter how obscure, was properly honored. (46)

I realized they weren’t just grieving for Jason. The song had unleashed their collective sorrow about the recent battle, their losses, which - given the sparseness of the crowd - must have been extreme. Jason’s song became their song. By honoring him, we honored all the fallen. (47)

I shuddered. “A caffeinated Meg. Just what I need. How long have I been out?”

“Day and a half.”

“What?!”

“You needed sleep. Also, you’re less annoying unconscious.” (55)

Her expression closed up like a hurricane shutter. “Nightmares. I woke up screaming a couple of times. You slept through it, but...” She picked a clod of dirt off her trowel. “This place reminds me of... you know”

I regretted I hadn’t thought about that sooner. After Meg’s experience growing up in Nero’s Imperial Household, surrounded by Latin-speaking servants and guards in Roman armor, purple banners, all the regalia of the old empire - of course Camp Jupiter must have triggered unwelcome memories. (56)

“Meg and I have been talking, the last day or so, while you were passed out - I mean, recovering - sleeping, you know. It’s fine. You needed sleep. Hope you feel better.”

Despite how terrible I felt, I couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve been very kind to us, Praetor Zhang. Thank you.” (58)

Frank must have read my pained expression.

“It would’ve been much worse if it hadn’t been for you,” he said, which only made me feel guiltier. “If you hadn’t sent Leo here to warn us. One day, out of nowhere, he just flew right in.”

“That must have been quite a shock,” I said. “Since you thought Leo was dead.”

Frank’s dark eyes glittered like they still belonged to a raven. “Yeah. We were so mad at him for making us worry, we lined up and took turns hitting him.”

“We did that at Camp Half-Blood too,” I said. “Greek minds think alike.” (63)

Frank took my arm gently. “One foot in front of the other. That’s the only way to do it.”

I had come here to support the Romans. Instead this Roman was supporting me. (71)

Millennia ago, I’d killed four of my father’s favorites because they had made the lightning bolt that killed my son Asclepius. (And because I couldn’t kill the actual murderer who was, ahem, Zeus). (73)

I had never been a fan of felines. They were self-centered, smug, and thought they owned the world. In other words... All right, I’ll say it. I didn’t like the competition. (76)

No. Of course. The legion had no high priest, no pontifex maximus. Their former auger, my descendant Octavian, had died in the battle against Gaia. (Which I had a hard time feeling sad about, but that’s another story.) Jason would’ve been the logical next choice to officiate, but he was our guest of honor. That meant that I, as a former god, was the ranking spiritual authority. I would be expected to lead the funeral rites. (87)

The golden eagle of the Twelfth loomed over my shoulder, charging the air with ozone. I imagined Jupiter speaking through its crackle and hum, like a voice over shortwave radio: YOUR FAULT. YOUR PUNISHMENT.

Back in January, when I’d fallen to earth, those words had seemed horribly unfair. Now, as I led Jason Grace to his final resting place, I believed them. So much of what had happened was my fault. So much of it could never be made right.

I meant to keep that promise, if I survived long enough. But in the meantime, there were more pressing ways I needed to honor Jason: by protecting Camp Jupiter, defeating the Triumvirate, and, according to Ella, descending into the tomb of an undead king. (88)

I began to speak, the Latin ritual verses pouring out of me. I chanted from instinct, barely aware of the words’ meanings. I had already praised Jason with my song. That had been deeply personal. This was just a necessary formality.

In some corner of my mind, I wondered if this was how mortal felt when they used to pray to me. Perhaps their devotions had been noting but muscle memory, reciting by rote while their minds drifted elsewhere, uninterested in my glory. I found the idea strangely... understandable. Now that I was mortal, why should I not practice nonviolent resistance against the gods, too? (91-92)

In the center, behind a marble altar, rose a massive golden statue of Dad himself: Jupiter Optimus Maximus, draped in a purple silk toga big enough to be a ship’s sail. He looked stern, wise, and paternal, though he was only one of those in real life.

Seeing him tower above me, lightning bolt raised, I had to fight the urge to cower and plead. I knew it was only a statue, but if you’ve ever been traumatized by someone, you’ll understand. It doesn’t take much to trigger those old fears: a look, a sound, a familiar situation. Or a fifty-foot-tall golden statue of your abuser - that does the trick. (94-95)

“My time,” I said. “For what, exactly?”

She nipped the air in annoyance. To be Apollo. The pack needs you.

I wanted to scream I’ve been trying to be Apollo. It’s not that easy! (95)

I stared up at Large Golden Dad.

Zeus had thrown me into the middle of all this trouble. He’d stripped me of my power, then kicked me to the Earth to free the Oracles, defeat the Emperors, and - Oh wait! I got a bonus undead king and a silent god, too! I hoped the soot from the funeral pyre was really annoying Jupiter. I wanted to climb up his legs and finger-write across his chest WASH ME! (98)

Lupa’s message seemed too good to be true. I could contact my fellow Olympians, despite Zeus’s standing orders that they shun me while I was human. I might even be able to invoke their aid to save Camp Jupiter. (98)

I studied the old prophecies set in the floor mosaic. I had lost friends to the Triumvirate. I had suffered. But I realized that Lupa suffered, too. Her Roman children had been decimated. She carried the pain of all their deaths. Yet she had to act strong, even as her pack faced possible extinction.

You couldn’t lie in Wolf. But you could bluff. Sometimes you had to bluff to keep a grieving pack together. What do mortals say? Fake it till you make it? That is a very wolfish philosophy. (99)

Seeing her again, my heart twisted. She had once been a lovely young woman - bright, strong-willed, passionate about her prophetic work. She had wanted to change the world. Then things between us soured... and I had changed her instead.

Her appearance was only the beginning of the curse I had set on her. It would get much, much worse as the centuries progressed. How had I put this out of my mind? How could I have been so cruel? The guilt for what I’d done burned worse than any ghoul scratch. (105)

“Put on your sheet.” Meg threw a toga in my face, which was not the nicest way to be woken up.

I blinked, still groggy, to the smell of smoke, moldy straw, and sweaty Romans lingering in my nostrils. “A toga? But I’m not a senator.”

“You’re honorary, because you used to be a god or whatever.” Meg pouted. “I don’t get to wear a sheet.” (108)

I got dressed, trying to remember how to fold a toga, and mulled over the things I’d learned from my dream. Number one: I was a terrible person who ruined lives. Number two: There was not a single bad thing I’d done in the last four thousand years that was not going to come back and bite me in the clunis, and I was beginning to think I deserved it.

The Cumaen Sibyl. Oh Apollo, what had you been thinking?

Alas, I knew what I’d been thinking - that she was a pretty young woman I wanted to get with, despite the fact that she was my Sibyl. Then she’d outsmarted me, and being the bad loser that I was, I had cursed her.

No wonder I was now paying the price: tracking down the evil Roman king to whom she’d once sold her Sibylline Books. If Tarquin was still clinging to some horrible undead existence, could the Cumaean Sibyl be alive as well? I shuddered to think what she might be like after all these centuries, and how much her hatred for me would have grown. (109)

No one laughed or called me crazy. Gods didn’t intervene in demigod affairs often, but it did happen on rare occasions. The idea wasn’t completely unbelievable. On the other hand, no one looked terribly assured that I could pull it off.

A different senator raised his hand. “Uh, Senator Larry here, Third Cohort, Son of Mercury. So when you say help, do you mean like... battalions of gods charging down in their chariots, or more like the gods just giving their blessing, like, Hey, good luck with that, legion!?”

My old defensiveness kicked in. I wanted to argue that we gods would never leave our desperate followers hanging on like that. But, of course, we did. All the time. (119)

Frank looked crestfallen, which made me feel bad. I hadn’t meant to take out my frustrations on one of the few people who still called me Apollo unironically. (121)

I had loved everything about her - the way her hair had caught the sunlight, the mischievous gleam in her eyes, the easy way she smiled. She didn’t seem to care that I was a god, despite having given up everything to be my Oracle: her family, her future, even her name. Once she pledged to me, she was known simply as the Sibyl, the voice of Apollo.

But that wasn’t enough for me. I was smitten. I convinced myself it was love - the one true romance that would wash away all my past missteps. I wanted the Sibyl to be my partner throughout eternity. As the afternoon went on, I coaxed and pleaded.

“You could be so much more than my priestess,” I urged her. “Marry me!”

She laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am! Ask for anything in return, and it’s yours.”

She twisted a strand of her auburn locks. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be the Sibyl, to guide the people of this land to a better future. You’ve already given me that. So, ha-ha, joke’s on you.”

“But - but you’ve only got one lifetime!” I said. “If you were immortal, you could guide humans to a better future forever, at my side!”

She looked at me askance. “Apollo, please. You’d be tired of me by the end of the week.”

“Never!”

“So, you’re saying” - she scooped up two heaping handfuls of sand - “if I wished for as many years of life as there are grains of this sand, you would grant me that.”

“It is done!” I pronounced. Instantly, I felt a portion of my own power flowing into her life force. “And now, my love-”

“Whoa, whoa!” She scattered the sand, clambering to her feet and backing away as if I were suddenly radioactive. “That was a hypothetical, lover boy! I didn’t agree- “

“What’s done is done!” I rose. “A wish cannot be taken back. Now you must honor your side of the bargain.”

Her eyes danced with panic. “I-I can’t. I won’t!”

I laughed, thinking she was merely nervous. I spread my arms. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Of course I’m afraid!” She backed away farther. “Nothing good ever happens to your lovers! I just wanted to be your Sibyl, and now you’ve made things weird!”

My smile crumbled. I felt my ardor cooling, turning stormy. “Don’t anger me, Sibyl. I am offering you the universe. I’ve given you near-immortal life. You cannot refuse payment.”

“Payment?” She balled her hands into fists. “You dare think of me as a transaction?”

I frowned. This afternoon really wasn’t going the way I’d planned. “I didn’t mean- Obviously, I wasn’t-”

“Well, Lord Apollo,” she growled, “if this is a transaction, then I defer payment until your side of the bargain is complete. You said it yourself: near-immortal life. I’ll live until the grains of sand run out, yes? Come back to me at the end of that time. Then, if you still want me, I’m yours.”

I dropped my arms. Suddenly, all the things I’d loved about the Sibyl became things I hated: her headstrong attitude, her lack of awe, her infuriating, unattainable beauty. Especially her beauty.

“Very well.” My voice turned colder than any sun god’s should be. “You want to argue over the fine print of our contract? I promised you life, not youth. You can have your centuries of existence. You will remain my Sibyl.I cannot take those things away, once given. But you will grow old. You will wither. You will not be able to die.”

“I would prefer that!” Her words were defiant, but her voice trembled with fear.

“Fine!” I snapped.

“Fine!” she yelled back.

I vanished in a column of flame, having succeeded in making things very weird indeed.

Over the centuries, the Sibyl had withered, just as I’d threatened. Her physical form lasted longer than any ordinary mortal’s, but the pain I had caused her, the lingering agony... Even if I’d had regrets about my hasty curse, I couldn’t have taken it back any more than she could take back her wish. Finally, around the end of the Roman Empire, I’d heard rumors that the Sibyl’s body had crumbled away entirely, yet she still could not die. Her attendants kept her life force, the faintest whisper of her voice, in a glass jar.

I assumed that her jar had been lost sometime after that. That the Sibyl’s grains of sand had finally run out. But what if I was wrong? If she were still alive, I doubted she was using her faint whisper of a voice to be a pro-Apollo social media influencer.

I deserved her hatred. I saw that now.

Oh, Jason Grace... I promised you I would remember what it was to be human. But why did human shame have to hurt so much? Why wasn’t there an off button? (131-134)

I had ruined every one of my relationships, brought nothing but destruction and misery to the young men and women I’d loved. (135)

“I appreciate a good boon as much as the next person. But if I’m going to contribute to this quest and not just cower in the corner, I need to know how” - my voice cracked “how to be me again.”

The vibration of the arrow felt almost like a cat purring, trying to sooth an ill human. ART THOU SURE THAT IS THY WISH?

“What do you mean?” I demanded. “That’s the whole point! Everything I’m doing is so-” (138)

I was tired of others keeping me safe. The whole point of consulting the arrow had been to figure out how I could get back to the business of keeping others safe. That used to be so easy with my godlike powers.

Was it, though? another part of my brain asked. Did you keep the Sibyl safe? Or Hyacinthus and Daphne? Or your own son Asclepius? Should I go on?

Shut up, me, I thought back. (140-141)

He laughed. “Just take care of yourself, okay? I don’t think I could handle a world with no Apollo in it.”

His tone was so genuine it made me tear up. I’d started to accept that no one wanted Apollo back - not my fellow gods, not the demigods, perhaps not even my talking arrow. Yet Frank Zhang still believed in me.

Before I could do anything embarrassing - like hug him, or cry, or start believing I was a worthwhile individual - I spotted my three quest partners trudging toward us. (142)

As we passed a silver lake nestled between the hills, I couldn’t help thinking i as just the sort of place my sister would love. Oh, how I wished she would appear with her Hunters!

Despite our differences, Artemis understood me. Well, okay, she tolerated me. I longed to see her beautiful, annoying face again. That’s how lonely and pathetic I had become. (146-147)

What sort of parents would let their children ride such nightmarish creatures? Maybe Zeus, I thought. (150)

I now understood the lines from the Burning Maze: I would face death in Tarquin’s tomb, or a fate worse than death. But I would not allow my friends to perish too. (166)

Then I wondered if Lavinia simply felt more at home in the wild than she did at camp. She and my sister would get along fine (169)

Also, the way she was looking at me, I got the feeling that her grumpy facade might collapse into tears faster than Tarquin’s ceiling had crumbled. (169)

I saw and heard nothing, but I took Hazel’s word for it. “Go. You’ll move faster without me.”

“Not happening,” Meg said. (170)

Home. Such a wonderful word.

I had no idea what it meant, but it sounded nice.

[...]

I dreamed of homes. Had I ever really had one?

Delos was my birthplace, but only because my pregnant mother, Leto, took refuge there to escape Hera’s wrath. The island served as an emergency sanctuary for my sister and me, too, but it never felt like home anymore than the backseat of a taxi would fell like home to a child born on the way to a hospital.

Mount Olympus? I had a palace there. I visited for the holidays. But it always felt more like the place my dad lived with my stepmom.

The Palace of the Sun? That was Helios’s old crib. I’d just redecorated.

Even Delphi, home of my greatest Oracles, had originally been the lair of Python. Try as you might, you can never get the smell of old snakeskin out of a volcanic cavern.

Sad to say, in my four-thousand-plus years, the times I’d felt most at home had all happened during the past few months: at Camp Half-Blood, sharing a cabin with my demigod children; at the Waystation with Emma, Jo, Georgina, Leo, and Calypso, all of us sitting around the dinner table chopping vegetables from the garden for dinner; at the Cistern in Palm Springs with Meg, Grover, Mellie, Coach Hedge, and a prickly assortment of cactus dryads; and now at Camp Jupiter, where the anxious, grief-stricken Romans, despite their many problems, despite the fact that I brought misery and disaster wherever I went, had welcomed me with respect, a room above their coffee shop, and some lovely bed linens to wear.

These places were homes. Whether I deserved to be a part of them or not - that was a different question. (171-172)

Meg huffed, “It’s still light outside. You slept all day.”

“Not turning into a zombie is hard work.”

“I know!” she snapped. “I’m sorry!”

[...]

Just a few minutes ago, Meg had been happily insulting me and gorging on jelly beans. Now... was she crying?

“Meg.” I sat up, trying not to wince. “Meg, you’re not responsible for me getting hurt.

She twisted the ring on her right hand, then the one on her left, as if they’d become too small for her fingers. “I just thought... if I could kill him...” She wiped her nose. “Like in some stories. You kill the master, and you can free the people he’s turned.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. I was pretty sure the dynamic she was describing applied to vampires, not zombies, but I understood what she meant.

“You’re talking about Tarquin,” I said. “You jumped into the throne room because... you wanted to save me?”

“Duh,” she muttered, without any heat.

I put my hand over my bandaged abdomen. I’d been so angry with Meg for her recklessness in the tomb. I’d assumed she was just being impulsive, reacting to Tarquin’s plans to let the Bay Area burn. But she’d leaped into battle for me - with the hope that she could kill Tarquin erase my curse. That was even before I’d realized how bad my condition was. Meg must have been more worried, or more intuitive, than she’d let on.

Which took all the fun out of criticizing her.

“Oh, Meg,” I shook my head. “That was a crazy, senseless stunt, and I love you for it. But don’t beat yourself up. Pranjal’s medicine bought me some extra time. And you did too, of course, with your cheese-grating skills and your magical chickweed. You’ve done everything you could. When we summon godly help, I can ask for complete healing. I’m sure I’ll be as good as new. Or at least, as good as a Lester can be.”

Meg tilted her head, making her crooked glasses just about horizontal.”How can you know? Is this god going to give us three wishes or something?”

I considered that. When my followers called, had I ever shown up and granted them three wishes? LOL, nope. Maybe one wish, if that wish was something I wanted to happen anyway.

[...]

“I don’t know, Meg,” I confessed. “You’re right. I can’t be sure everything will be okay. But I can promise you I’m not giving up. We’ve come this far. I’m not going to let a belly scratch stop us from defeating the Triumvirate.”

She had so much mucus dripping from her nostrils, she would’ve made Buster the unicorn proud. She sniffled, wiping her upper lip with her knuckle. “I don’t want to lose somebody else.”

My mental gears weren’t turning at full speed. I had trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that by “somebody else,” Meg meant me.

[...]

Now, aside from all the bad memories the Roman trappings of Camp Jupiter might have triggered for her, she was faced with the prospect of losing me. In a moment of shock, like a unicorn staring me right in the face, I realized that despite all the grief Meg gave me, and the way she ordered me around, she cared for me. For the past three months, I had been her one constant friend, just as she had been mine.

[...]

What a horribly insufficient friend I had been.

“Come here.” I held out my arms. “Please?”

Meg hesitated. Still sniffling, she rose from her cot and trudged toward me. She fell into my hug like I was a comfy mattress. I grunted, surprised by how solid and heavy she was. She smelled of apple peels and mud, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t even mind the mucus and tears soaking my shoulder.

I’d always wondered what it would be like to have a younger sibling. Sometimes I’d treated Artemis as my baby sister, since I’d been born a few minutes earlier, but that had been mostly to annoy her. With Meg, I felt as if it was actually true. I had someone who depended on me, who needed me around no matter how much we irritated each other. I thought about Hazel and Frank and the washing away of curses. I supposed that kind of love could come from many different types of relationships. (188-192)

Some of the pandai were young enough to have pure white fur, which made my head hurt, reminding me of my brief friendship with Crest, the youthful aspiring musician who’s lost his life in the Burning Maze. (193)

No matter what happened over the next twenty-four hours, I would not add to Meg’s worries. I would tough it out until the moment I keeled over.

Wow. Who even was I? (195)

she hesitated, then generously decided not to add except for Apollo, who slept through it all (199)

A third group sledded down a dirt hill on their shields.

Hazel sighed. “That would be my group of delinquents. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to teach them how to slay ghouls.” (203)

I cleared my throat. I’d faced much bigger audience. Why was I so nervous? Oh, right. Because I was a horribly incompetent sixteen-year-old. (205)

I shot at the nearest target - then at the target next farthest out, then at the next - firing again and again in a kind of trance.

Only after my twentieth shot did I realize I’d landed all bull’s-eyes, two in each target, the farthest about two hundred yards away. Child’s play for Apollo. For Lester, quite impossible.

The legionnaires stared at me, their mouths hanging open. We’re supposed to do that?” Dakota demanded.

Lavinia punched my forearm. “See, you guys? I told you Apollo doesn’t suck that much!”

I had to agree with her. I felt oddly not suckish.

The display of marksmanship hadn’t drained my energy. Nor did it feel like the temporary bursts of godly power I’d experienced before. I was tempted to ask for another quiver to see if I could keep shooting at the same skill level, but I was afraid to press my luck. (205-206)

I’d spent a lot of time worrying about the fate of New Rome and Camp Jupiter, the Oracles, my friends, and myself. But these hackberries and crabgrasses deserved to live just as much. They, too, were facing death. They were terrified. If the emperors launched their weapons, they stood no chance. The homeless mortals with their shopping carts in People’s Park would also burn, right along with the legionnaires. Their lives were worth no less. (215)

Honestly, I didn’t know much about dryad life cycles, or how they protected themselves from climate disasters. Perhaps if I’d spent more time over the centuries talking to them and less time chasing them...

Wow. I really didn’t even know myself anymore. (216)

“Why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance?” (228)

Whether I died today, or turned into a zombie, or somehow managed to live, I would rather face my fate with my conscience clear and no secrets. For one thing, I should tell Meg about my encounter with Peaches. I should also tell her I didn’t hate her. In fact, I liked her pretty well. All right, I loved her. She was the bratty little sister I’d never had. (232)

I crossed my arms. “Well, I’m glad we had this talk, so I could unburden myself of all the things you already knew. I was also going to say that you’re important to me and I might even love you like a sister, but-”

“I already know that, too.” She gave me a crooked grin, offering proof that Nero really should have taken her to the orthodontist when she was younger. “S’okay. You’ve gotten less annoying, too.” (243)

“Lester, I need intel,” she said. “Tell me how we defeat these things.”

“I don’t know!” I wailed. “Look, back in the old days, ravens used to be gentle and while, like doves, okay? But they were terrible gossips. One time I was dating this girl, Koronis. The ravens found out she was cheating on me, and they told me about it. I was so angry, I got Artemis to kill Koronis for me. Then I punished the ravens for being tattle-tales by turning them black.”

Reyna stared at me like she was contemplating another kick to my nose. “That story is messed up on so many level.”

“Just wrong,” Meg agreed. “You had your sister kill a girl who was cheating on you?”

“Well, I-”

“Then you punished the birds that told you about it,” Reyna added, “by turning them black, as if black was bad and white was good?”

“When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound right,” I protested. “It’s just what happened when my curse scorched them. It also made them nasty-tempered flesh-eaters.”

“Oh, that’s much better,” Reyna snarled.

“If we let the birds eat you,” Meg asked, “will they leave Reyna and me alone?”

“I- What?” I worried that Meg might not be kidding. Her facial expression did not say kidding. It said serious about the birds eating you. “Listen, I was angry! Yes, I took it out on the birds, but after a few centuries I cooled down. I apologized. By then, they kind of liked being nasty-tempered flesh-eaters. As for Koronis- I mean, at least I saved the child she was pregnant with when Artemis killed her. He became Asclepius, god of medicine!”

“Your girlfriend was pregnant when you had her killed?” Reyna launched another kick at my face. I managed to dodge it, since I’d had a lot of practice cowering, but it hurt to know that this time she hadn’t been aiming at an incoming raven. Oh, no. She wanted to knock my teeth in.

“You suck,” Meg agreed.

“Can we talk about this later?” I pleaded. “Or perhaps never? I was a god then! I didn’t know what I was doing!”

A few months ago, a statement like that would have made no sense to me. Now, it seemed true. I felt as if Meg had given me her thick-lensed rhinestone-studded glasses, and to my horror, they corrected my eyesight. I didn’t like how small and tawdry and petty everythin looked, rendered in perfect ugly clarity through the magic of Meg-O-Vision. Most of all, I didn’t like the way I looked - not just present-day Lester, but the god formerly known as Apollo. (252-253)

“But you’re the- you used to be the god of music, right? If you can charm a crowd, you should be able to repulse one. Pick a song those birds will hate!”

Great. Not only had Reyna laughed in my face and busted my nose, now I was her go-to guy for repulsiveness.

Still... I was struck by the way she said I used to be a god. She didn’t seem to mean it as an insult. She said it almost like a concession - like she knew what a horrible deity I had been, but held out hope that I might be capable of being someone better, more helpful, maybe even worthy of forgiveness. (255)

I wanted to sing for Reyna, to prove that I had indeed changed. I was no longer the god who’d had Koronis killed and created ravens, or cursed the Cumaean Sibyl, or done any of the other selfish things that had once given me no more pause than choosing what dessert toppings I wanted on my ambrosia.

It was time to be helpful. I needed to be repulsive for my friends! (256)

I sighed. “You two are horrible influences on each other.”

Without taking their eyes off me, Reyna and Meg gave each other a silent high five. (265)

THOU HAST FOUND THY GROOVE. AT LEAST THE BEGINNINGS OF THY GROOVE. I SUSPECTED THIS WOULD BE SO, GIVEN TIME. CONGRATULATIONS ARE MERITED. (266)

“What did you do to him?” Meg asked.

I tried to look offended. “Nothing! I may have teased him a bit, but he was a very minor god. Rather silly-looking. I may have made some jokes at his expense in front of the other Olympians.”

Reyna knit her eyebrows. “So you bullied him.”

“No! I mean... I did write zap me in glowing letters on the back of his toga. And I suppose I might have been a bit harsh when I tied him up and locked him in the stalls with my fiery horses overnight-”

“OH MY GODS!” Meg said. “You’re awful!”

I fought down the urge to defend myself. I wanted to shout, Well at least I didn’t kill him like I did my pregnant girlfriend Koronis! But that wasn’t much of a gotcha.

Looking back on my encounters with Harpocrates, I realized I had been awful. I somebody had treated me, Lester, the way I had treated that puny Ptolemaic god, I would want to crawl in a hole and die. And if I were honest, even back when I was a god, I had been bullied - only the bully had been my father. I should have known better than to share the pain.

I hadn’t thought about Harpocrates in eons. Teasing him had seemed like no big deal. I suppose that’s what made it even worse. I had shrugged off our encounters. I doubted he had.

Koronis’s ravens... Harpocrates...

It was no coincidence they were both haunting me today like the Ghosts of Saturnalias Past. Tarquin had orchestrated this with me in mind. He was forcing me to confront some of my greatest hits of dreadfulness. Even if I survived the challenges, my friends would see exactly what kind of a dirtbag I was. The shame would weigh me down and make me ineffective - the same way Tarquin used to add rocks to a cage around his enemy’s head, until eventually, the burden was too much. The prisoner would collapse and drown in a shallow pool, and Tarquin could claim, I didn’t kill him. He just wasn’t strong enough. (269-270)

The emperors would’ve considered Harpocrates just another dangerous, amusing plaything, like their trained monsters and humanoid lackeys.

And why not let King Tarquin be his custodian? The emperors could ally themselves with the undead tyrant, at least temporarily, to make their of Camp Jupiter a little easier. They could let Tarquin arrange his cruelest trap for me. Whether I killed Harpocrates or he killed me, what did it matter to the Triumvirate in the end? Ether way, they would find it entertaining - one more gladiator match to break the monotony of their immortal lives. (273)

“Would that count?” Meg asked. “I mean, if Reyna doesn’t open the door herself, isn’t that cheating the prophecy?”

Reyna shrugged. “Prophecies never mean what you think, right? If Apollo is able to open the door thanks to my help, I’m still responsible, wouldn’t you say?” (274)

If Harpocrates was indeed waiting inside this shipping contained, I would make sure the full force of his anger fell on me, not Reyna or Meg. (276)

The god glared at me. He forced painful images into my mind: me stuffing his head into a toilet on Mount Olympus; me howling with amusement as I tied his wrists and ankles and shut him in the stables with my fire-breathing horses. Dozens of other encounters I’d completely forgotten about, and in all of them I was as golden, handsome, powerful, and powerful as any Triumvirate emperor - and just as cruel. (279)

Just because we both hated the Triumvirate did not make us friends. Harpocrates had never forgotten my cruelty. (280)

She sent Harpocrates her life story, captured in a few painful snapshots. She knew about monsters. She had been raised by the Beast. No matter how much Harpocrates hated me - and Meg agreed that I could be pretty stupid sometimes - we had to work together to stop the Triumvirate.

Harpocrates shredded her thoughts with rage. How dare she presume to understand his misery? (281)

Harpocrates was unmoved. He bent his will toward me, burying me in his hatred.

All right! I pleaded. Kill me if you must. But I am sorry! I have changed!

I sent him a flurry of the most horrible, embarrassing failures I’d suffered since becoming mortal: grieving over the body of Heloise the griffin at the Waystation, holding the dying pandos Crest in my arms in the Burning Maze, and, of course, watching helplessly as Caligula murdered Jason Grace.

Just for a moment, Harpocrates wrath wavered.

At the very least, I had managed to surprise him. He had not been expecting regret or shame from me. Those weren’t my trademark emotions. (282)

For the emperors, the potential loss of their fasces apparently didn’t outweigh the potential benefit of having me destroyed... or the entertainment value of knowing I’d done it to myself. (283)

They had left me the starkest of choices: run away, let the Triumvirate win, and watch my mortal friends be destroyed, or free two bitter enemies and face the same fate as Jason Grace.

It was an easy decision.

I turned to Reyna and Meg and thought as clearly as I could: Destroy the faces. Cut him free. (283-284)

Harpocrates rage pressed down on me, making my knees buckle. The air pressure increased, as if I’d plummeted a thousand feet. I almost blacked out, but I guessed Harpocrates wouldn’t let that happen. He wanted me conscious, able to suffer.

He flooded me with bitterness and hate. My joints began to unknit, my vocal cords dissolving. Harpocrates might have been ready to die, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill me first. That would bring him great satisfaction.

I bowed my head, gritting my teeth against the inevitable.

Fine, I thought. I deserve it. Just spare my friends. Please.

The pressure eased.

I glanced up through a haze of pain.

In front of me, Reyna and Meg stood shoulder to shoulder, facing down the god.

They sent him their own flurry of images. Reyna pictured me singing “The Fall of Jason Grace” to the legion, officiating at Jason’s funeral pyre with tears in my eyes, then looking goofy and awkward and clueless as I offered to be her boyfriend, giving her the best, most cleansing laugh she’d had in years (Thanks, Reyna.)

Meg pictured the way I’d saved her in the myrmekes lair at Camp Half-Blood, singing about my romantic failures with such honesty it rendered giant ants catatonic with depression. She envisioned my kindness to Livia the elephant, to Crest, and especially to her, when I’d given her a hug in our room at the cafe and told her I would never give up trying.

In all their memories, I looked so human... but in the best possible ways. Without words, my friends asked Harpocrates if I was still the person he hated so much. (288-289)

“Good-bye, Apollo,” said the Sibyl’s voice, clearer now. “I forgive you. Not because you deserve it. Not for your sake at all. But because I will not go into oblivion carrying hate when I can carry love.”

Even if I could’ve spoken, I wouldn’t have known what to say. I was in shock. Her tone asked for no reply, no apology. She didn’t need or want anything from me. It was almost as if I was the one being erased. (291)

Anger swelled in me. I decided I was done with the ravens’ bitterness. Plenty of folks had valid reasons to hate me: Harpocrates, the Sibyl, Koronis, Daphne... maybe a few dozen others. Okay, maybe a few hundred others. But the ravens? They were thriving! They’d grown gigantic! They loved their new jobs as flesh-eating killers. Enough with the blame. (295)

Reyna must have noticed my worried expression.

“You did good back there,” she said. “You stepped up.”

Reyna sounded sincere. But her praise just made me feel more ashamed.

“I’m holding the last breath of a god I bullied,” I said miserably, “in the jar of a Sibyl I cursed, who was protected by birds I turned into killing machines after they tattled about my cheating girlfriend, who I subsequently had assassinated.”

“All true,” Reyna said. “But the thing is, you recognize it now.”

“It feels horrible.”

She gave me a thin smile. “That’s kind of the point. You do something evil, you feel bad about it, you do better. That’s a sign you might be developing a conscience.”

I tried to remember which of the gods had created the human conscience. Had we created it, or had humans just developed it on their own? Giving mortals a sense of decency didn’t seem like the sort of thing a god would brag about on their profile page.

“I- I appreciate what you’re saying,” I managed. “But my past mistakes almost got you and Meg killed. If Harpocrates had destroyed you when you were trying to protect me...��

The idea was too awful to contemplate. My shiny new conscience would have blown up inside me like a grenade.

Reyna gave me a brief pat on the shoulder. “All we did was show Harpocrates how much you’ve changed. He recognized it. Have you completely made up for all the bad things you’ve done? No. But you keep adding to the ‘good things’ column. That’s all any of us can do.”

Adding to the “good things” column. Reyna spoke of this superpower as if it were one I could actually possess.

“Thank you,” I said. (299-300)

“We’re going to make it,” I said, like a fool.

Once again, I had broken the First Law of Percy Jackson: Never say something is going to work out, because as soon as you do, it won’t. (306)

When had I last felt “whole”? I wanted to believe it was back when I was a god, but that wasn’t true. I hadn’t been completely myself for centuries. Maybe millennia.

At the moment, I felt more like a hole - a void in the cosmos through which Harpocrates, the Sibyl, and a lot of people I cared about had vanished. (316)

I laughed - actually laughed - with satisfaction. It felt so good to be a decent archer again, and to watch Meg at her swordplay. What a team we made! (322)

This was how it ended, I thought bitterly. Not fighting threats from the outside, but fighting against the ugliest side of our own history. (323)

There had only ever been one choice. Deep down, I’d always known which god I had to call.

“Follow me,” I told Ella and Tyson.

I ran for the temple of Diana.

Now I’ll admit I’ve never been a huge fan of Artemis’s Roman persona. As I’ve said before, I never felt like I personally changed that much during Roman times. I just stayed Apollo. Artemis, though...

You know how it is when your sister goes through her moody teenage years? She changes her name to Diana, cuts her hair, hangs out with a different, more hostile set of maiden hunters, starts associating with Hecate and the moon, and basically acts weird? When we first relocated to Rome, the two of us were worshipped together like in the old days - twin gods with our own temple - but soon Diana went off and did her own thing. We just didn’t talk like we used to when we were young and Greek, you know?

I was apprehensive about summoning her Roman incarnation, but I needed help, and Artemis - Sorry, Diana - was the most likely to respond, even if she would never let me hear the end of it afterward. Besides, I missed her terribly. Yes, I said it. If I was going to die tonight, which seemed increasingly likely, first I wanted to see my sister one last time. (332)

Ella rummaged in her supply pouches, pulling out herbs, spices, and vials of oils, which made me realize how long it had been since I’d eaten. Why wasn’t my stomach growling? (333)

The emperors obviously wanted to send a message: they intended to dominate the world at any cost. They would stop at nothing. They would mutilate and maim. They would waste and destroy. Nothing was sacred except their own power.

I rose unsteadily. My hopelessness turned into boiling anger. I howled, “NO!” (340)

A few months ago, I would have been happy to let Frank take this hopeless fight on his own while I sat back, ate chilled grapes, and checked my messages. Not now, not after Jason Grace. I glanced at the poor maimed pegasi chained to the emperors’ chariot, and I decided I couldn’t live in a world where cruelty like that went unchallenged.

“Sorry, Frank,” I said. “You won’t face this alone.” I looked at Caligula. “Well, Baby Booties? Your colleague emperor has already agreed. Are you in, or do we terrify you too much?”

Caligula’s nostrils flared. “We have lived for thousands of years,” he said, as if explaining a simple fact to a slow student. “We are gods.”

“And I’m the son of Mars,” Frank countered. “praetor of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata. I’m not afraid to die. Are you?” (345)

Commodus punched me square in the chest. I staggered backward and collapsed on my butt, my lungs on fire, my sternum throbbing. A hit like that should have killed me. (348)

My first punch left a fist-size crater in the emperor’s gold breastplate. Oh, I thought in some distant corner of my mind. Hello, godly strength! (352)

Commodus fought, but his fists were like paper. I let loose a guttural roar - a song with only one note: pure rage, and only one volume: maximum.

Under the onslaught of sound, Commodus crumbled to ash.

My voice faltered. I stared at my empty palms. I stood and backed away, horrified. The charred outline of the emperor’s body remained on the asphalt. I could still feel the pulse of his carotid arteries under my fingers. What had I done? In my thousands of years of life, I’d never destroyed someone with my voice. When I sang, people would often say I “killed it”, but never meant that literally. (360)

I cobbled together the last shreds of my courage. I channeled my old sense of arrogance, from back in the days when I loved to take credit for things I didn’t do (as long as they were good and impressive). I gave Gregorix and his army a cruel, emperor-like smile.

“BOO!” I shouted.

The troops broke and ran. (362-363)

I grinned at the newcomer. “Hey, sis.”

Then I keeled over sideways. The world turned fluffy, bleached of all color. Nothing hurt anymore.

I was dimly aware of Diana’s face hovering over me, Meg and Hazel peering over the goddess’s shoulders.

“He’s almost gone,” Diana said.

Then I was gone. My slipped into a pool of cold, slimy darkness.

“Oh no, you don’t,” my sister’s voice woke me rudely.

I’d been so comfortable, so nonexistent.

Life surged back into me - cold, sharp, and unfairly painful. Diana’s face came into focus. She looked annoyed, which seemed on-brand for her.

As for me, I felt surprisingly good. The pain in my gut was gone. My muscles didn’t burn. I could breathe without difficulty. I must have slept for decades.

“H-how long was I out?” I croaked.

“Roughly three seconds,” she said. “Now, get up, drama queen.”

[...]

I beamed at my sister. It was so good to see her disapproving I-can’t-believe-you’re-my-brother frown again. “I love you,” I said, my voice hoarse with emotion.

She blinked, clearly unsure what to do with this information. “You really have changed.”

“I missed you!”

“Y-yes, well. I’m here now. Even Dad couldn’t argue with a Sibylline invocation from Temple Hill.”

[...]

I checked my stomach, which was easy, since my shirt was in tatters. The bandage had vanished, along with the festering would. Only a thin white scare remained. “So... I’m healed?” My flab told me she hadn’t restored me to my godly self. Nah, that would have been too much to expect.

Diana raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m not the goddess of healing, but I’m still a goddess. I think I can take care of my little brother’s boo-boos.”

“Little brother?”

She smirked, then turned to Hazel. (382-384)

I suppose I’d been too focused on Thalia, wondering whether or not she was going to kill me and whether or not I deserved it. (388)

“You also saved me,” I said. “You’re here. You’re actually here.”

She took my hand and squeezed it. Her flesh felt warm and human. I couldn’t remember the last time my sister had shown me such open affection. (389)

“It’s just a guess,” I admitted. “Frank went into that tunnel knowing he might die. He willingly sacrificed himself for a noble cause. In doing so, he broke free of his fate. By burning his own tinder, he kind of... I don’t know, started a new fire with it. He’s in charge of his own destiny now. Well, as much as any of us are. The only other explanation I can think of is that Juno somehow released him from the Fates’ decree.” (393)

“How did you survive the fire?” Hazel asked.

“I don’t know. I remember Caligula burning up. I passed out, thought I was dead. Then I woke up on Arion’s back. And now I’m here.” (395)

“Hey, Apollo, you- you know the difference between a faun and a satyr...?”

[...]

A moment later, his body collapsed with a noise like a relieved sigh, crumbling into fresh loam. In the spot where his heart had been, a tiny sapling emerged from the soil. I immediately recognized the shape of those miniature leaves. Not a hemlock. A laurel - the tree I had created from poor Daphne, and whose leaves I had decided to make into wreaths. The laurel, the tree of victory.

One of the dryads glanced at me. “Did you do that...?”

I shook my head. I swallowed the bitter taste from my mouth.

“The only difference between a satyr and a faun,” I said, “is what we see in them. And what they see in themselves. Plant this tree somewhere special.: I looked up at the dryads. “Tend it and make it grow healthy and tall. This was Don the faun, a hero.” (398-399)

She folded her arms and stared at the fire. “I don’t blame you, Apollo. My brother...” She hesitated, steadying her breath. “Jason made his own choices. Heroes have to do that.” (402)

“It seems so cruel,” she continued. “We lose someone and finally get them back, only to lose them again.”

I wondered why she used the word we. She seemed to be saying that she and I shared this experience - the loss of an only sibling. But she had suffered so much worse. My sister couldn’t die. I couldn’t lose her permanently.

Then, after a moment of disorientation, like I’d been flipped upside-down, I realized she wasn’t talking about me losing someone. She was talking about Artemis - Diana.

Was she suggesting that my sister missed me, even grieved for me as Thalia grieved for Jason?

Thalia must have read my expression. “The goddess has been beside herself,” she said. “I mean that literally. Sometimes she gets so worried she splits into two forms, Roman and Greek, right in front of me. She’ll probably get mad at me for telling you this, but she loves you more than anyone else in the world.”

A marble seemed to have lodged in my throat. I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded.

“Diana didn’t want to leave camp so suddenly like that,” Thalia continued. “But you know how it is. Gods can’t stick around. Once the danger to New Rome had passed, she couldn’t risk overstaying her summons. Jupiter... Dad wouldn’t approve.”

I shivered. How easy it was to forget that this young woman was also my sister. And Jason was my brother. At one time, I would have discounted that connection. They’re just demigods, I would have said. Not really family.

Now I found the idea hard to accept for a different reason. I didn’t feel worthy of that family. Or Thalia’s forgiveness. (403-404)

“My whole life, I’ve been living with other people’s expectations of what I’m supposed to be. Be this. Be that. You know?”

[...]

“But you showed me. When you proposed dating...” She took a deep breath, her body shaking with silent giggles. “Oh, gods. I saw how ridiculous I’d been. How ridiculous the whole situation was. That’s what healed my heart - being able to laugh at myself again, at my stupid ideas about destiny. That allowed me to break free - just like Frank broke free of his firewood. I don’t need another person to heal my heart. I don’t need a partner... at least, not until and unless I’m ready on my own terms. I don’t need to be force-shipped with anyone or wear anybody else’s label. For the first time in a long time, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. So thank you.” (405-406)

As we stood to accept the legion’s thanks, I felt strangely uncomfortable. Now that I finally had a friendly crowd cheering for me, I just wanted to sit down and cover my head with a toga. I had done so little compared to Hazel or Reyna or Frank, not to mention all those who had died: Jason, Dakota, Don, Jacob, the Sibyl, Harpocrates... dozens more. (413).

Usually I was against re-gifting, but in this case, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. I couldn’t remember when or why I’d given the legion this bow - for centuries, I’d passed them out like party favors - but I was certainly glad to have it back. I drew the string with no trouble at all. Either my strength was godlier than I realized, or the bow recognized me as its rightful owner. Oh, yes. I could do some damage with this beauty. (415)

We’d have to trust the gods for some good luck. (Insert HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA here.) (422)

#ttt spoilers #for future reference #the trials of apollo #trials of apollo #the tyrant's tomb #toa #toa spoilers

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ks-caster · 4 years

Text

The Future is Infinite (Chapter 7)

Start || Previous

Chapter-specific warnings: Mild suicidal ideation

“Slow down,” the man who’d been introduced a few minutes ago as Nick Fury demanded, “and start from the beginning.” Octavia resisted the urge to scratch her still-healing burns as Natasha and T’Challa took turns catching the man up on what had been happening with Thanos. According to Bruce (after he’d bravely suppressed a gag at seeing the state of her body) she was healing up at a phenomenal rate, and should be back up to 100% by the end of tomorrow.

She had taken that as an official release from medical, and had grit her teeth through a painful and ill-advised shower, pulled on another pair of soft pants and a shirt, and had wandered into the introduction and briefing of the former director of SHIELD. She figured it wouldn’t hurt to listen in, if only to get caught up on everyone’s names.

“Shortly thereafter,” Thor was jumping in, “Thanos attacked my ship, carrying the remainder of Asgard’s people as refugees. He slaughtered about half of our number; the other half escaped in pods. While Loki, Hulk and I held them off…”

According to both Wong and Tony, Strange was going to lose it when he woke up and found out that they’d prioritized saving his life over retrieving the time stone. Octavia’s mind replayed those moments over and over, trying to find another angle she could have swung her sword or a way she could have caught up with the fleeing wizard. While she didn’t regret the decision to choose the life of a comrade in arms over an inanimate object, she did know how bad of a thing it was for Thanos to have it. Particularly if the wizard Mordo could use it the same as Strange had.

“...While Wanda was trying to destroy it - we almost lost Vision,” Natasha continued. “If the ship from Phyra hadn’t shown up when it did…”

Steve had looked like he was going to either hug her or cry when he’d caught sight of her upon her return. She’d made a joke about Venus being too hot for a vacation, and when it fell flat, reminded him that the infinity stone made her able to heal. Eventually she’d managed to push off some of the attention on Peter, pointing out how he’d bravely saved her and Valkyrie at the last moment.

Tony had alternated between worried scolding and beaming pride, and something about the way he and Steve no longer flinched at each other’s presences made her think that someone had forced them to come to an understanding. Maybe it was Shuri, she thought tiredly. She was just glad it hadn’t been her this time.

“And you must be Miss Blake,” the woman who had come with Fury addressed her, holding out a hand to shake. Octavia took it. “Maria Hill, former agent of SHIELD, current hero-wrangler with Stark Industries.”

“Octavia Blake,” she responded, “current human infinity stone.”

“What abilities does it give you?” Fury asked, somehow managing to look like he was staring her down both with his eye and the patch on his left side.

“So far, I can survive having my ribcage crushed by a titan, and a walk on the surface of Venus; if someone touches me and I don’t want them to, they get thrown across the room” she listed tiredly. “And bonus, when I wish that the floor would open up and swallow me, it actually does.” She focused hard on staying where she was, not wanting to accidentally give a practical demonstration right then and there.

“So in general, not a combatant,” Fury summed up. Half the room raised hands and voices to correct him. Octavia smirked while Fury raised an eyebrow, first at the room at large, and then at her.

“Untrained, then,” Fury corrected himself. Octavia inclined her head, allowing that.

“You happen to have a course available at SHIELD?” she checked, half sarcastic, half wondering what resources they might have. “How to use your infinity stone in 10 days or less?”

“A course, no,” Fury shook his head. “But,” he added thoughtfully, “I do know someone with experience in that area.”

“Actually, so do I,” Rocket realized aloud. Everyone turned to look at him. “Well, not a lot of experience.” he backtracked quickly. “And he can’t do it anymore. But he did pretty good for himself at the time. And he needs something to do anyway.”

“My option is on the other side of the galaxy,” Fury shrugged. “It’ll take her some time to get here.”

“Mine’s holed up in his room down the hall,” Rocket responded.

-0-

Peter Quill was a horrible teacher.

First, he had no idea what he was doing. His experience was limited to two days living on a planet that was also his biological father (she wasn’t 100% clear on the details there and wasn’t sure she wanted to be). While his ability to control his surroundings sounded a lot like the descriptions she’d gotten of the reality stone’s powers, he understood them about as much as she did - which wasn’t much.

He also insisted on expressing himself in metaphors based on a culture that Octavia had no context for, and didn’t become at all discouraged by her blank looks and complete lack of understanding.

“Once again,” she growled, “I don’t know what the force is, or how to use it, I’ve never heard of Krypton, my name isn’t Daniel-san, and I still don’t understand why the thing you want me to do with the power of the universe is bend a spoon.” She held the piece of cutlery up and waved it back and forth between her fingers, thinking that she could easily bend the metal with only her hands. Hardly a god-like feat.

“Look,” Quill growled right back, “the only time you’ve been able to use it is when you were emotional - you wanted to fall through the floor, you didn’t want the King Panther dude to touch you, you were upset and lashed out. Now when I had my powers, they were tied into my emotions too - you don’t fly the arrow with your head,” he choked off, and Octavia bit down on the inner corner of her lips to try to prevent a scowl.

“I don’t know that one either,” she sighed, but stopped there, noticing that he was tearing up. Rocket had warned that he wasn’t terribly stable - his girlfriend had been killed by Thanos hours before he’d landed on Earth. He’d also described the man as funny, irreverent, friendly, and kind of an idiot. A good friend.

Like Jasper, she thought, heart twisting as he tried to make another joke to smooth over whatever he’d been saying about arrows.

“So what you’re saying with all of this is I need to get emotional,” she summed up.

“Not exactly,” he sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyes, ostensibly in frustration, but clearly also to remove the evidence that he’d started crying. “According to Thor, when his ex had it, it protected her when she felt she was in danger. Now the times you described that you used it, you were in danger too - or thought you were. But you’re not in danger here in this room.”

“So I need to… recreate what I was feeling at the time that I used it to defend myself,” she summed up.

“Yes, exactly,” Quill exclaimed. Octavia could feel herself shrinking on the inside. That toxic combination of fear and despair wasn’t something she wanted to relive.

“And you’re absolutely sure that this is the only way?”

“I’m absolutely sure that this is the only way I know of,” he responded, flinging his arms wide, “since I was only a damn deity for about two days, and I’ve only had my hands on an infinity stone for about thirty seconds. And I barely survived both of those things.” He gave her a confused, awed, pitying look with which she was becoming familiar as the people of Terra-Earth learned the various things she’d survived.

“Something something evolutionary next step ,” she said, waving the spoon dismissively. Then she glared at the curved metal, willing it to bend - for the hundredth time that morning, but this time focusing on the fear and pain she’d been feeling when she ran from the medical wing.

The spoon glinted defiantly at her, a perfect, smooth curve.

She forced herself to go back into the darkest recesses of her head, tracing the thoughts lurking at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to flood in and consume her if she let her guard down.

Functionally immortal. She’d gone from comfortably courting death, knowing that her final rest was on its way and having faith in all the good that would do her people, to possibly never being released from this life. She’d never see Ethan again. Or Jasper. Or Lincoln. Or her mom. And her people would never truly be free of The Dark Year. The last of the human race wasn’t even the last - just an abandoned test colony. It had all been for nothing, she’d given up her soul for nothing…

“-Tavia! Octavia, geez, stop! Stop!” Her eyes snapped to Quill’s wide, terrified ones. The spoon stood, perfect and unbothered by her inner turmoil.

“What?” she began to demand, irritated that this man would demand she tear herself apart with emotional pain only to interrupt her before it did any good.

“I think maybe your problem is less about power, and more about… aim,” he explained quietly, pointing off to the side. Turning her head first one way, then the other, Octavia found her eyes going just as wide as his had.

The columns supporting the room’s roof had all bent down, doubling over in response to her command. She glanced up, noting the red mist holding up the ceiling, and then following the long tail streaming off of it to its source of Wanda Maximoff’s hand.

“Nice catch,” Quill thanked the woman as he stood and dusted bits of plaster off of himself.

Octavia exhaled slowly, making a concentrated effort to calm herself down.

She was accustomed to power. She was accustomed to scaring people.

She was not accustomed to being unable to control those things.

‘The sword doesn’t care what you meant,’ she remembered coldly admonishing Illian, lifetimes ago. ‘It just cuts.’ This power was far more destructive than a sword or a gun, and for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure if she could stop herself.

“Hey,” Natasha greeted them from the doorway, and three heads swiveled in her direction. “Strange is awake.”

“Awesome,” Quill responded dryly, “he can take over as Mr. Miyagi.”

“About that,” the red-haired agent sighed. “There’s been a complication.”

-0-

“Mordo’s spell was intended to remove his magic at the source,” Wong was explaining as they arrived. “Thanks to Octavia’s timely intervention, he didn’t succeed, but the damage is extensive - and it seems to have reset his memories back to June, 2016.”

“Look, Mr… whatever your name was,” Strange was trying to growl, his hands shaking even more uncontrollably than usual as his voice cracked. “I don’t know who the hell you people are or how I got here, but if someone could quit talking about magical miracle bullshit for ten seconds and call a real hospital, that would be great.”

“I take it June 2016 is prior to him becoming the master wizard we all know and loathe?” Tony sighed, pressing a half-full glass of something brown to his temple.

“Right before,” Wong confirmed. “The last thing he remembers is going to look for Pangborn. We think that that since Mordo’s spell was meant to remove his magic, and said magic is obtained through study and practice, he had to suppress the relevant memories..”

“What the hell kind of hospital allows this many visitors to pile in at once?” Strange grumbled. “What country is this? And who’s in charge here?”

“Well that’s an unfortunate twist,” Octavia sighed, scrubbing her hands down her face as Shuri introduced herself and started to talk about chemical memories and a bunch of other scientific stuff that the warrior didn’t pretend to understand. They were short one time stone, one wizard, and she still didn’t have a competent teacher.

Fear froze through her at the familiar thought that she might be on her own in this, carrying a power she neither wanted nor fully understood, again. Was it too much to ask of the universe that she not be alone to carry such a burden? She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing deeply as Wong had instructed her to do when she felt her mind start to slip down that path.

In, out, Strange’s voice was relieved as he began to realize that Shuri really actually did know what she was talking about.

In, out, this wasn’t her earth, there was no more bunker, no more Blodreina.

In, out, Tony and Steve were discussing how this would affect their plan in low, stressed voices.

In, out, she just needed someone who understood this, who knew what the hell they were doing, she needed she needed she needed she needed so hard that the universe was warping around that need.

She swallowed, clenching her fists against her forehead. Too much, too much power, too much need.

In, out, Rocket was quite vocal about how screwed they were now. Strange was quite vocal - and in a much higher register - about the fact that a raccoon was talking.

In, out, she could feel the power flowing through her, infinity crying out to infinity, the whole universe beneath the soles of her shoes and more, answering her call as it had every time she’d felt cornered and afraid so far.

Her heart pounded, once, twice.

Their hearts pounded, once, twice.

In, out, a green-skinned woman was waking up, breathing herself for the first time in a long time, blinking in confusion at the light coming in through Quill’s window as she threw back the curtains and stared at the city below, trying to get her bearings…

“Octavia!” The hands on her were Wong’s and she realized that she could feel the stone’s power about to throw him off, and reined the impulse in with an iron will, the same as she had the impulses to murder and maim so many times when she was queen. She felt the power rising against her, but she opened her eyes, aiming her fist at the window and letting the burst of red power shatter it. Wong’s hands left her shoulders out of sensible caution - not because she’d hurt him.

Progress.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this,” she commented blandly.

“So the light show and broken window were on purpose?” Rocket snorted.

“That window could withstand a missile blast,” one of the red-armored warriors who followed the princess around said, her eyebrows up. “If that was on purpose, I’d hate to see an accident.”

“Who the hell gave me LSD?” Strange choked.

“Some guy named Mordo,” Octavia responded flippantly, “I’m sure Wong can fill you in. Rocket, Nebula, with me please.” She turned and walked out of the room, knowing and not knowing where she was going all at once. She felt the stone singing beneath her skin, felt another pulling at her, felt a third pricking at the edge of her consciousness, wanting to wake...

“Uh, where are we going?” Rocket demanded, standing up from all-fours after he’d caught up.

“Quill’s room I think,” Octavia responded, turning left and descending a flight of stairs.

“Why?” Nebula shot back, not trying to disguise the irritation and disgust in her tone. Octavia threw open the door to the guest hallway, and came face to face with the green woman, dressed in what were probably Quill’s spare clothes, holding two halves of a broken stand lamp like batons. For a long moment, no one spoke. No one moved. No one breathed.

The poles clattered to the floor as Nebula flung herself at her sister.

To Be Continued...

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savannahawthorne · 4 years

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LIA HAVELOCK | THE DAY OF THE VICTORY TOUR

Back before the modern days, there lived a time even before the ‘once upon a times’ present in our lore. It was a time of glory, wisdom, and a time of much adventure. It was a time when the peril was real as well as the ethereal glory of the celestial crown upon the Earth’s head. This was the time that the maiden, one who was as fair as the morning dew and as lovely as the springtime blooms, dwelled and lived…

Slowly, the sky overhead lit with the fiery red paint strokes of the dying day gave to the subtle tones of purple and inkinesss that would accompany the darkness of a moonless night. After all, District Four was a dark place when the moon did not shine and these days, the pale ribbon of moonlight was long sought after as the moon ventured on it’s trip away from the Earth. Still, there was a steady scratch of the pen long into the darkness with only the small lit orb of the flashlight (a haunting gift from a gleaming Capitol City) to accompany it.

For this maiden was a wondrous sight to behold; her golden hair was made of the purest sunbeams for it gave off the warming glow in which the blooms sprang into being. In her eyes, eyes that were so cerulean even the sky was jealous, you might have expected to see puffs of cumulus clouds frolick. So special was this maiden, when she pranced around flowers bloomed in her wake as a humble offering from the Earth in celebration of her glory and virtuous nature inherited from her mother; Mother Earth.

One fair day, forest breeze flowing through her hair tangling it gentle knots and the sweet aroma of petals kissing the air, that Persephone wandered lost as a gentle fawn guided her way. A fawn whose spots had begun to fade in favor of the tiny velvet horns erupting from it’s head as the creature made its way into adulthood.

How Persephone favored this creature as she followed it blindly, because it knew the way. The creature was her own sun and guiding star separate from the ones her father had created in the starry heavens above, to guide the mortals trapped in the mortal realm.

“Oh!” Persephone called out as the ground gave way below her feet. What was this horror that had come to encompass her world of flowers, greenery, and frolicking? This new world was dark, jagged marble that glittered in the darkness, fed by the River Styx which flowed through it.

Still she was not afraid, for her fawn had leaped down the hole in the Earth as a newly appointed soldier at her side. Looking at the creature, now stalwart and calm, Persephone christened it Virgil, a pure soul destined to guide her journey.

Lia stopped for a moment, tears now wetting the pages in her hands as the tide lapped at her toes buried in the cool sand. Over her shoulder her constant companions, pale and transparent, watched silently as they urged her to continue her tale.

Somewhere in the darkness of this grand city, the City of the Underworld, her imprisoner waited with bated breath. For it was his darkest ambition for the fairest maiden to arrive in his city and be his own treasure to claim. It did not matter that her father, the mightest of the Gods, had denied his request. He was the mightiest of all, for Hades, ruled the land in which none could escape. After all, he was the light that cared for the souls of the land providing them with nourishment and a place to rest their immortal souls once the short flesh of mortality had been shed. No, it was Hades that should be worshiped above all.

Seeing the path behind them was blocked by stone as immovable as the past bricks molded by the sands of times, Persephone knew the way forward was their only option. “Come Virgil, we shall go forth and join this panem et circeneses.” Surely if they were victorious they would be allowed to return home to the forest of their youth and free to rejoice in the sun once more.

Pausing, Lia chewed her lip, her hand weary from a day’s work, but she knew the time was running out as the stars shifted across the sky. In the morning the time would come, a time when the light would be forced to rise until it surrendered to the darkness. It was with urgency that she went back to the task at hand and Persephone’s siren call.

Back on earth, the sun had slowly dipped in the sky and Mother Earth, Demeter, called her only child back from the forest. “Come my child, come and be well for we will dine on the harvest feast as we always do.” Only the sun slowly vanished behind the horizon and Demeter’s table remained empty. There would be no feast tonight or for many fortnight’s to come.

With lamenting tears, Demeter called out to her husband, the King of the Gods. ‘Oh where has our child gone? Our maiden of the springtime and the flowers?” She asked as she surveyed the area around them. Already the flowers had begun to wilt and give into the heat of the sun, baking the Earth in the glorious worth of summer.

Without the reassurances of her husband, who hadn’t a clue, Demeter called out again to the all-knowing God of the Sun, Helios. “Oh! My wisest friend, tell me where my daughter has perished because my heart aches with incurable sadness.”

Slowly, Helios paused his chariot in the sky hearing the desperate pleas of Mother Earth, causing an endless stream of sunbeams to shine down on the Earth. For this was not part of his journey, but he could not leave Demeter in such anguish.

“Sister Demeter, your child is not lost.” His voice called down laden with sorrow and regret. “She has been claimed by Hades, God of the Underworld, and shall not return to this land ever again as pentenace for your Husband’s wilful denial of his request for her hand in marriage.”

Demeter cried out in desperation for the words of the Sun God could not be true. Her child would one day return to her as it is a mother’s will to be with their children. Her daughter, Persephone, was far too fair and good to be damned to the pits of Hell. She would see to it that all should be set right again in the world…

Heavily, Lia sighed as she looked up, her blue eyes finding the first light of the day breaking on the horizon. In another time, this would have been her most cherished moment of the day. The moments in which a new beginning was born into life and when it was as if the world took a breath and began again, but the world had died months ago.

Yet, Persephone persisted in the dark despair of that grand city below having made her way to the gleaming City of the Damned. There her and her fawn, Virgil, who had now grown, were imprisoned in a palace that would even shame her father’s. Daily she was showered in expectations, but also gifts Hades believed her heart would desire.

With persistent tears, Persephone continued to bath the Underworld with her misery no gifts could cure. Gifts could not quell her longing to return to her mother and the green earth above, for she was not meant to be of this world. The glamour and glitz held no appeal to her as did her would-be-lover's pleas. Trials and tribulations were not her way, though, if she must, she swore up and down she would do as needed. For surely successful completion meant returning to the warmth of Demeter’s embrace.

Hastily, Lia finished the last pages of her writing and slammed the book shut with a resounding thud. The call of obligation rang out with the incoming tide and she knew she could not resist it’s call any longer. Life was like the tides after all, they came and went, and you were powerless to fight them. A lesson she had learned all too well in the days that had passed since the ‘fated’ one that hung still above her head like a guillotine.

Even as she stepped foot on the train, Persephone’s tale remained with her. A whisper under the blankets kind of tale that you could not help but pass along, even to a now phantom chaperone.

Back on Earth, Demeter mourned her child and swore there would be no warmth until all was set right. So, the Earth fell into a fitful slumber. Gone were the warm winds and sunbeams of the glory days. Her fits of rage had long banished Helios from the sky and a white blanket of snow, ice, and silence enveloped all the lands. It was then the cries of Zesus’ beloved mortals joined in the chorus of Mother Earth begging for Zeus to bring them relief.

Try as he might, Zeus could not convince Demeter to permit Helios to continue his journey across the sky. For what did it matter? The Earth would not bloom again in greenery and flowers until the Maiden of the Springtime returned, or was he so callous he had forgotten his daughter already?

“Hades!” Zeus called out in a fit of anger summoning his brother to his side. “I order you to return back what you have stolen.”

Haughty and with a laugh full of zeal, the God of the Underworld laughed at the request bequeathed to him. “Now brother, you have thrice denied my request for the hand of the fairest maiden, and now she is mine. All is as it should be.” Hades reasoned.

“This is my wish!” Zeus cried out in anger as he stomped his foot and pointed a thunderbolt at the God of the Underworld.

“No, this is the wish of your wife.” Hades pointed out. It had been longed known that Zeus, God of the Gods, long favored his daughter Athena above all others. “I have promised to bath Persephone in the finest riches of the Earth and care for her all the days of eternity.” He continued despite the anger resonating from his brother. “I can make her a queen, now that she has passed my trials and tribulations, and the souls of the Underworld will worship her as their own. Tell me, how is this not desirable?”

Frustration furrowed Zeus’ brow as he listened to the words of his brother. “You shall return the maiden to her mother before fortnight’s end.” He demanded as he settled into his lofty Olympus throne knowing the mortals would perish if Demeter’s anguish was not abated. “In return, I shall promise her to you for six months of the year as to permit you both what your hearts desire. I rule this as her father and as the Gods of All Gods on Olympus. This is final.”

The words swirled in Lia’s head as she embarked, tired and frazzled from her own fortnight’s journey. Ahead of her laid the gleaming city of marble and stone, but would forever be cloaked in darkness and misery. Here the wail of the Lost was the strongest and frequented her without relenting. Here the call of what might have been and could have been blurred until she could no longer untangle the ball of string they had become and set the world right.

If she turned her head to the right, Lia could almost hear the whispers of the fawn now grown in the wind urging her to keep going. The next part of the story playing on repeat was his favorite. His voice was soft and eager, much like it had been when they were children hushed by the silence of the night and the fear of being overheard and whisked back to bed without the story’s ending.

Eyes choked with tears, Lia had no other option than to allow the movie in her head to come to fruition.

And so it was deemed that Perseophone should be returned to her mother Detemer. With a fit of joy and happiness, the maiden burst forth from the ground. In her wake, the flowers bloomed and the verdant grasses sprung up in a happy celebration of the return of the Springtime Maiden, easing away the cold light of winter.

Overjoyed, Demeter called out permission to Helios to continue his chariot ride across the sky and return the sun to the Earth. In all the days that followed, warmth and joy filled the earth and blossomed in their fields. Once again there was peace and prosperity until the fateful day Persephone would return to the under dwellings of the Earth and Demeter’s sadness would again envelope the Earth robbing it of its riches.

“Do not fear mother,” Persephone assured her mother as she gently wiped her tears from her cheeks with her thumb. “For I will be back before you know it. Until then, I shall do my best to comfort the souls of the departed. To brighten their world with the mercy you have shown me, your daughter. I shall bring forth the flowers and the bounty your love has bestowed upon me and bestow it upon them. I can be a wondrous Queen because I was created in your image and have grown in your love.” Persephone quietly told her mother hoping to alleviate her worries.

“Rest easy and take solace in the fact that we will meet again soon,” Persephone assured seeing the tears of Demeter had not slowed. “For the circle has no end and comes around again and again. As we are blood we are of one circle we cannot be truly parted, only temporarily parted and rejoined again and again.”

Knowing the final sand grain of her time had come close to slipping through the hourglass, Persephone slipped a golden halo of olive leaves onto her mother’s head. “May this continuous crown of golden leaves remind you of our circle and of my never ending love for you, my mother, my blood. Soon we will meet again and bask in the glory of our love for each other.”

Nodding, Demeter wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled softly. “And as my tribute to you, my only daughter, forsaken by her father, I shall weave golden circle crowns for all the Gods and they will wear them for all eternity as a symbol of your glory and sacrifice. When one thinks of golden crowns, they will know not only the strength needed to wear such a token but of the sacrifice it demands as you have demonstrated so grandly.”

With that proclamation, Demeter gifted morals the golden crown to wear upon the heads of those deemed worthy or to the children that frolic in the meadows or by the seaside dreaming the wild unkempt dreams of childhood.

With a snap Lia closed the book, the one embossed with the fallen golden crown resting upon a duo of silver coins, and slid it upon the shelf made of the finest mahogany. Staring back at her was the fine golden print adorning the side of the spine that simply said, “The Forgotten Lore of District Four” penned by Lia Havelock.

And while her book would no doubt be an unprecedented success, Lia knew the words were just that, words. Tales that were meant to be shared in times of joy, strength to draw from in times of hardship, and most importantly, to be acted out on the beach by children envisioning a future of bliss and growth.

Lia would also tell you there were no words more important than those simply stated on the first page of her book:

For Fenn and Atalanta, Our circle is not broken.

#Lia Havelock #One last story #The unbroken circle

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